Reproductive rights (and wrongs)
by RochelleRene
Summary: What if House had volunteered to be Cuddy's sperm donor when she was trying to get pregnant? Could he have wanted that? Could she have? Would that be all they wanted?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, everyone. I was watching "Fetal Position" recently and some of the themes of different arcs at that time were coming together for me and itching my brain, so I decided to write this longer fic to explore them. I never thought I'd write another Huddy-baby-themed fic (the first one was hard enough) but this one is a little different. It takes off from Cuddy's fertility treatments, not with House and Cuddy in an established relationship. It begins immediately following episode 3X17 "Fetal Position." I'm also not going to post all at once, but I have it mostly written in longhand and will update promptly. I think it will be four chapters long. I hope you like it.**

**[H] [H] [H]**

House entered his apartment and paused. He looked at the tickets to Vancouver Island that Cuddy had given him, then promptly ripped them up. She had said it was "big," this vacation planning. So what did it mean that he'd never actually intended to go anywhere, but was using his week off to seclude himself in his apartment with music and drugs? Moreover, what did it mean that he couldn't admit that that was his plan, but instead pretended to obsess over the details of overly-complicated trips? Was he just messing with all of them? With himself?

He sat on the sofa and stared at the flickering image on the television. He sipped his drink, popped his pills. But despite the distraction and medication, he could not stop _feeling_ it. His finger—What? Itched?—with the memory of the baby's, er, fetus's tiny finger grasp. He rubbed the spot with the pad of his thumb.

He was making too much of this. It was a remarkable surgery, hence all the people in the observation theater. And it contained a remarkable moment, hence the stunned silence. But it didn't mean anything about him, about his life. Except that he couldn't help noticing how rarely someone voluntarily touched him.

And Cuddy, scolding him to "affix the pulse-ox," her eyes burning with concern for that baby—FETUS—didn't stick with him for any particular reason either. It was just Cuddy throwing her weight around… as he'd handled a child… that she had determined would live.

_Fuck_, he thought. It was all getting clearer, despite his buzz and the absence of Wilson's psychoanalysis.

The patient—Emma. He'd accused Cuddy of seeing herself in her. Well, what did it mean, then, that he'd spent more time with her than he ever did with patients? He'd listened to her, flirted with her, argued with her while respecting her perspective somewhat. What did it mean that he wanted desperately to throw the fetus away in order to ensure her survival? Cuddy wasn't the only one using her as a proxy for Cuddy.

_Fuck… Get outta my head, Wilson._

"I thought you'd be incommunicado by now, globetrotter," Wilson teased upon answering his phone, knowing full well House wouldn't be leaving his apartment for a full week. "Layover in Beirut?" He heard only silence. "House?" There was a beat, then:

"I think I wanna make a kid with Cuddy."

Another beat, then:

"Bold move."

"Which part?" House asked.

Wilson laughed. "Like the two are separable." More silence. "How do you know Cuddy even wants to have a baby with anyone?"

"Shut up. I know you know."

Wilson cleared his throat awkwardly. "Know what?"

"Christ, Wilson. That Cuddy's been trying to get pregnant."

"What makes you so sure I know that?"

"Because I know when you act like you know something I don't know."

There was a pause as Wilson mulled this over. "Is it, like, my walk?"

"You're getting distracted."

"Right, right. You as sperm donor."

"Fuck," House sighed, drinking more.

"Yeah, you're fucked," Wilson agreed. "But I'm excited to watch."

"Kinky bastard."

Wilson snorted. "Usually you two eventually invite me to participate. You know, when the pain gets too intense," he teased.

"Forget it," House countered. "This will be all flowers and sunshine and rainbow-puking unicorns. We won't need you." He snorted at the idea himself.

"Clearly. When I think House and Cuddy I think rainbow unicorns."

"And puke."

"And puke."

House sighed. "Night, Wilson."

"Have a nice trip. Take pictures."

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy heard the knock and, at this hour, figured it was him before she even opened the door. Why he would be harassing her on the eve of his vacation was not yet clear, but she braced herself for whatever was aimed straight at her, pulling her cardigan tighter around her and opening the door, only halfway, a hand braced on it for prompt slamming.

When he came into her vision as the door swung inward, he was disheveled—notably more than usual—and looked slightly manic in the eyes, even as he was trying to appear nonchalant in his choice to lean against the door frame.

"House," she said evenly. It was neither a greeting nor a question, but rather a statement of fact. It was House.

"Alright, alright, already," he complained. "I'll give you my sperm."

Cuddy tucked in her lips and cocked her head. She was sure she'd heard him right, but less sure of his meaning. So she raised her eyebrows. "You'll what?"

House started entering the home without invitation, lumbering through the doorway with such graceless movement, Cuddy had to sidestep out of the way or be crashed out of it.

"My seed. My juice. My 'sample,'" he said, making air quotes at her. "Whatever it is the lesbians and childless forty-somethings are calling it these days." He pulled a specimen cup out of his jacket pocket.

Cuddy eyed the cup. "Hmmm. That's generous of you, House, but I don't recall asking for your… sample."

"You may not have asked for it explicitly, but I can read between the lines, Miss Please-Inject-Me."

"With fertility meds," she protested.

"Look, you can't be waving that rotundus ass in my face twice a day without the thought occurring to you. Especially when the menu of alternatives consists of dweebs and assholes."

"Oh, I'm sorry, you're not in one of those categories?" she sniped.

"No. I'm not. I'm the guy helping you with this."

"I don't need your help."

"Well…" He was stymied. He couldn't admit to her that _he_ wanted this. "I'm giving it to you anyway."

"Um, so you basically came over to date rape me with a sperm sample?" she laughed.

"I came over," he began, thinking of a retort that commented on how she was "asking for it," wearing that cardigan, but was suddenly struck with some emotional pangs from earlier in the day. In the operating room. In his apartment. "I came over because I want you to have _my_ baby," he suddenly admitted. Cuddy looked stunned.

"Why?" she asked carefully.

House's brow furrowed. "Because I do. I don't know why." He blinked. "And I think you do too."

They stared at each other for a full minute, each waiting for the other to propel this forward or stop it in its tracks.

"Okay," Cuddy finally said. House nodded as if that were the response he'd expected all along. He walked to her bathroom, leaving her pacing and ill-at-ease. Ten minutes later he walked out empty-handed, smacked her hard on the ass, and left.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Over the next two weeks, House studied Cuddy, checking for any signs of change. She, for the most part, acted as if the potential of them procreating were the furthest thing from her mind, a nonexistent facet of her life even. He realized that skill was how she had been hiding her efforts all these months. So he looked for clues: signs of fatigue, nausea, even vague, non-scientific things like a glow or twinkle.

"House, what else do you want?" she asked, irritated that he was still in her office. "I told you to get the parents' consent for the biopsy. It's fine. Go. Biopsy." She made a shooing motion with her hand.

He came back to the present and nodded. He took the chance to raise an eyebrow at her, the most explicit he'd been about the whole thing since he'd shown up unannounced to masturbate in her half-bath.

Cuddy arched her brow back at him and shrugged. "Get used to it," she told him. "It's not like a light goes on. No alarm bells or whistles." She waved her hand at the calm air.

He nodded and grinned. "You'll tell me, right?"

His vulnerability in that moment was like a punch to her gut, reminding her that she'd been in this experience alone, but now she'd let a new heart (Did House actually have one?) into the messy process.

"No, I'm gonna wear Spanx for nine months and surprise you."

He nodded once again, then smirked. "You said 'spank.'"

Cuddy sighed. "Consent. Biopsy."

"Yes, mistress," he replied, walking out.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Two days later he saw her eating frozen yogurt in the cafeteria. He walked toward her, grabbing a spoon on his way. He dropped into the seat across from her and dug into the melty edge of the yogurt.

"Bummer," was all he said.

Cuddy offered a half-grin. "It's funny. I'm always both disappointed and relieved."

"Relieved?"

"The two times it…'took'… I miscarried in the first trimester. That's devastating. So I know if it happens again, there will be a moment of joy, and then the fear of going through all that again will start." She sucked some sweetness off her spoon. "I don't know if that makes sense."

House frowned slightly and used the tip of his spoon to stir sprinkles around. "Potential happiness cuing fear of pain? Never heard of it," he said. Cuddy chuckled bitterly. "I suggest a mild drug problem for that."

"Mild?" she poked.

"Nice."

Cuddy laughed. "For two smart, accomplished, attractive people, we sure suck at this," she mused.

"At what?" he asked, a little defensive since he'd only gotten one try so far.

"Life," she replied.

"Oh, that. Yeah… There are worse things to suck at."

Cuddy laughed again, loudly this time. Her Cuddy laugh. "Like what?"

"Sex. Bowling." He ate a huge bite of the dessert. "_Oral_ sex," he added through his mouthful.

She was cracking up. "It's weird how sometimes you are the only person who understands me."

House shifted in his seat, then raised his eyes from his spoon to meet her gaze. "Yeah," he said, before sliding his eyes to the side. "Back atcha."

She watched him, orally fixating on the plastic spoon, scanning the cafeteria with his careful eyes, looking for distraction from the intimacy. And in that moment, she wished she'd actually used his sperm sample.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House showed up at her door again four weeks after his first surprise visit. He walked in quickly, gave her a waggle of his eyebrows, and started limping toward the bathroom. She caught his arm.

"Are you sure about this, House?" she asked him.

House's eyes narrowed as he studied her. "Why would you ask that?"

"I mean, you do… on occasion… do things impetuously."

"I'm not changing my mind, Cuddy." She caught a hint of panic in his expression.

"You really want a child? I've never gotten that from you."

"I like kids," he said defensively.

"You do realize they grow up into adults, right? You're not so fond of those."

"Which is why I'm trying to create a superior species here."

"Oh, good, So your intentions aren't creepy or anything." She grinned at him.

House paused his joking for a second and asked her, "You still… want this?"

Cuddy blinked and held her arms out to the sides. "Of course."

House nodded once, then grabbed her ass—"for luck"—and went into the bathroom.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy walked into Wilson's office and went straight to the glass door, staring outside, across the balcony, to House's office.

Wilson looked up at her. "Um… hi."

"I need your help."

"Okay."

"It's about House."

"You don't say," he said sarcastically.

"It's complicated."

"You don't say," he repeated.

"He… volunteered to be…" She trailed off, chickening out.

"Your sperm donor?"

Cuddy turned toward him, her eyes wide. "You know?"

"House told me."

Cuddy sighed. "You don't say."

They stared at each other. She shrugged finally and took a seat.

"You pregnant?" Wilson inquired.

"No," she replied sullenly.

"You change your mind?"

"Not exactly." They stared at each other again.

"I thought you needed my help," Wilson reminded her.

"I don't want his sperm sample," Cuddy answered. Wilson raised his eyebrows, signaling her to say more. "I threw it down the sink both times," she explained. She inhaled sharply, then quickly added, "I think I want him."

Wilson grinned smugly and sat back in his desk chair. "You don't say."

Cuddy glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Cuddy. You thought you could grapple with the possibility of having his baby and not grapple with the possibility of having him?"

Cuddy considered that. "I thought we could have a baby and that would be enough. But now…" She thought for a moment.

"Now you want to get laid," Wilson teased.

"Now I just want… _making_ this baby… to mean something. To be memorable," she corrected him. "That's enough."

Wilson shook his head sadly. "Cuddy, you both confide in me. House about his hunger for drugs, answers, truth, vengeance. You about your hunger for order, control, justice, perfection. But there's one theme that runs through both of your lives constantly." He stopped and she looked at him, eager for some guidance to sort out these feelings. He continued, "You're both insatiable. Nothing is ever 'enough.'"

Cuddy felt the truth of this as a pang for more that was familiar and trusted. "I have to tell him," she concluded. "I have to tell him what I did."

"He won't take it well," Wilson cautioned, already aware he wasn't going to be able to talk her out of this decision. "He trusts you. Like he trusts me. He'll feel betrayed."

"But if I explain it was because I want more, he'll understand."

"Or," Wilson cautioned again, "He'll feel afraid of that, _and_ betrayed."

Cuddy bit her lip. "I guess that's the risk I have to take."

"Why?" Wilson asked. "Why not tell him you want… a 'memorable' insemination, without telling him you didn't really try the last two times?"

"Because it's dishonest," she told him. "And he trusts us for a reason. And he'll think it's just about improving my chances of getting pregnant. He'd never know that I always wanted more."

Wilson scratched the back of his head, frustrated. "You guys and the _more._"


	2. Chapter 2

**You all were so nice, so I decided to do even less work today…**

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy opened her door wearing a robe that stopped at mid-thigh because House didn't arrive until past midnight, and she'd given up on him and gone to bed. He came in without waiting for an invitation. "Third time's the charm," he assured her.

"House," she said, "We need to talk."

"Don't give up on my guys, Cuddy. They just need a little more time to diagnose this case." He continued walking deeper into the house.

"Are you comparing my uterus to a patient?" she scoffed.

"To a puzzle," he clarified. He stopped and looked her up and down. "You don't get hips like that without being fertile."

Cuddy sighed. "Listen, I need to tell you something."

"Okay, but wait until after. Looking at your hips got me hot and bothered." He smirked at her.

"House. I… It didn't work the last two months because… I didn't do it."

House blinked, shook his head a little. "What?"

"I didn't…use… your sample." She held her breath.

House looked at her. "Everybody lies," he muttered, then moved to the door.

"House, wait," she called. "Just let me explain."

"I get it, Cuddy. You don't need to spell it out for me." He opened the door and walked out. Cuddy followed him barefoot out the door and down the driveway to his bike.

"You don't get it," she pleaded with him, but his helmet was on and he started the machine, its roar drowning out her words. "House!" she yelled, standing on the grass next to him. He revved it twice and took off as she yelled "House!" once more.

Cuddy raced inside and grabbed her keys, jamming her feet into knee-high red rain boots deposited by the door. She ran to the car and sped to his apartment, mentally willing him to go straight home and not to a bar.

She parked crooked and ran up to his door. She knocked and heard a movement. She knew he was in there, but he wasn't answering. She pleaded, threatened, and banged on the door, asking just for the chance to explain. "If you don't talk to me, I'm gonna give your sperm to Cameron!" she yelled, hoping the combination of desperation and humor would win him over. She waited. He opened the door. "Thank you," she sighed, but his back was already turned to her as he walked to the kitchen to refill his drink. She followed him tentatively.

"I didn't mislead you," she told his back, "And I haven't changed my mind."

She saw him lift the drink and then set it down. He leaned on the counter, still facing away from her, his arms spread wide, bracing his weight. It was as if he were winded.

"The first time I was afraid you'd freak out," she continued. "And the second time I was afraid I'd freak out." She swallowed hard. "But I want this," she told him. "I want to… make a baby with you. I've thought about it since I even started this crazy endeavor, and I knew it the day you told me it should be with someone I like." She reached out and put a hand on his back. "Because I like you," she confessed. She felt him exhale. "But the thing is…" She swallowed hard. "I like _you_. Not your cup." She put her other hand on his back, then snaked her hands around his waist.

"What are you saying, Cuddy?" he asked gruffly, tired of being the only one out on a limb. She felt his question rumble through his torso.

"I don't want your sample, House. I want you. I wanna have sex, make love, fuck. Whatever you want to call it."

House turned around and she was so nervous about his response, she released him and took a step back. He looked down at her. "You wanna copulate with me?" he asked, a gleam in his eye.

Cuddy grinned, then raised one eyebrow. "Well, when you put it like _that_," she teased.

"You aren't worried?" he asked.

"I'm always worried."

He took a step toward her and hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. "Don't worry," he told her. She gasped a little and looked up into his eyes.

"Why not?"

"We're good at this."

"We were once."

"It's like riding a bike."

"Who's the bike in this metaphor?"

"Does it matter?" he murmured lowering his lips to hers.

A shudder ran through Cuddy. "Guess not."

House pushed her against the kitchen doorframe. Cuddy's mouth tilted up toward his.

"I'm gonna make you so pregnant," he teased, grinning before kissing her again.

Cuddy laughed against his mouth and he relished it. "Nice dirty talk."

"You ain't heard nothing yet," he growled, bending to his knees and opening her robe, kissing the strip of skin it revealed. "My tiny, determined sperm," he said gruffly over her skin, "is gonna merge with your slightly larger egg. Hard." He felt Cuddy's laughter ripple through her body, circled by his hands.

"Oh, God," she faux swooned. "Merge harder!" She was laughing hysterically.

"Beg for it," he joked back, looking up at her mouth, wide with laughter. But her smile slowly faded to a look of contentment and she took his face between her hands, staring down at him. "Please, House. Please get me pregnant." She half-smiled then. He pressed his face to her stomach. He pushed back the flimsy fabric and kissed each hip, sliding her panties down to the tops of her ridiculous boots. He nuzzled her mound tentatively, ran his tongue just barely over her clit.

"Jesus, House," she moaned, leaning her head back against the doorframe. "I think you've forgotten health class."

"Oh, I'll get the job done, Cuddy. I'll just take my time." His mouth returned to her body.

She laughed breathlessly, "You always run a bunch of unnecessary tests first," she gasped out, her knees buckling a little.

"Diagnostics is a winding road," he murmured. His hot breath skated over her heat and she was losing herself to him, but he stood up suddenly. "I've done my reading, Cuddy. You're more likely to get pregnant if you have multiple orgasms." He reached down and ran his fingers along her wet slit. "It creates a hospitable environment for my sperm. Which will be a first," he couldn't help adding. She giggled at him. "So, Cuddy, it's in your best interest," he said, his lips barely grazing hers, his fingers inside her, "If you let me make you come." She whimpered. "Often."

Her eyes closed, overcome by his words and touch. "I guess since you're here," she whispered, still trying to trash him even as the stroke of his hand made her legs tremble.

He snickered. "In _my_ apartment," he pointed out.

"In _my_ pussy," she retorted, and he groaned with desire and with frustration at how she could shut his brain down.

He continued moving his fingers along her sex. Cuddy wrapped a leg around his and he pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall as he slowly got her off. He felt her clench around his fingers, tighter with each inward push. She bit her lip and her head lolled to the side.

"You shouldn't have a man's baby unless he gets to see you like this," he told her quietly in her ear. "To feel you and hear you." Cuddy pushed up onto the toes of her planted foot and gasped. "Because you coming is the sexiest thing ever," he told her and she began to tremble in his arms, her heat pulsing with a hard, insistent rhythm. "Yes, Cuddy. Like this," he moaned in her neck. He kept talking and she kept going, her ecstasy fueled by his words that made her imagine herself how he sees her: sexy and powerful. She came harder and longer on House's hand than she had in her life, releasing months of frustration and questioning and self-criticism. In these few moments it was just this man, and all he saw was this woman, and this woman was her. It was all briefly easy and uncomplicated.

She put a hand to his to still him when it was over, her body over-sensitive now. She was gulping air in his kitchen doorway and he was watching her, a satisfied grin playing on his lips.

She looked at him with hooded eyes. "What are you so proud of? I ain't knocked up yet."

He smirked now. "But your environment is more hospitable," he teased. "I think that was the equivalent of putting out the welcome mat."

She met his teasing eyes. "So come on in."

His glee transformed into lust and he pulled her, shaky legs and all, toward his bedroom. Cuddy pulled back on him. "Let me take my disaster gear off," she said, kicking off a rain boot. He watched her shirk her robe completely off and work her panties the rest of the way down to step out of them. Then there she was in all her naked nakedness. He stared at her without bashfulness when she pirouetted in front of him.

"What do you think?" she asked, joking.

House licked his lips. "What? What's thinking?"

Cuddy froze, one arm still elegantly and dramatically above her head. She arched a brow and bit a lip. And it was on.

They ricocheted down his short hallway, Cuddy fumbling with his jeans while House unbuttoned his shirt one-handed, his other occupied with touching every inch of her he could reach. The softness of her skin pulled tightly over the tension of her muscles—the feeling was unmatched and he couldn't stop pawing at her. And in a weird, anthropological way, the idea that they were trying to get her pregnant didn't dampen any of the passion; it unexpectedly turned up the intensity. The caveman buried in his psyche was fucking turned on by the idea of getting his offspring into this perfect, full-breasted, round-hipped body. He _was_ gonna get her so pregnant.

By the time the back of his thighs hit the bed, his pants were at his knees and Cuddy had her legs around his hips, tipping him back. She straddled him as he kicked off what was left of his clothes. Her hand caressed his cock, but there was no need because he felt right then like his whole life had been a giant slow trajectory toward fucking Cuddy, right there, right then.

He held her hips and flipped her on her back. She inhaled sharply and her open mouth beckoned his. He kissed her hard, sliding his hands over her thighs, then holding her hips again. She tilted them back, inviting him. House slipped a hand back to the rise of her ass, then slid inside her. He moaned so luxuriously, he should have been embarrassed. But he wasn't. Because it was Cuddy. And Cuddy had seen him way more vulnerable than unabashedly enjoying her body.

He slowly pushed deeper inside her, his moan dissolving into a sigh. "Cuddy. You're so…"

Cuddy was writhing beneath him, urging him to move with her bucking hips. "So what?"

"Hospitable," he laughed.

One side of Cuddy's mouth curled up, but she wasn't having any of it. Banter was over. Flirtation was pointless. They were naked and sweaty and she just wanted to feel him fucking her without his brain getting in the way.

"So I'm wet, House?" she asked in her low, husky voice. House groaned against her shoulder. He pulled out of her and slid slowly back in. "Tight?" she continued. He moved again, faster. "You like the feeling of me, hot and tight around you, House?"

"For chrissake, Cuddy. You're gonna kill a man here."

He was moving, though, which is what she wanted. Between hearing her own dirty talk come out of her mouth and the feeling of him sliding in and out of her, she was already steadily approaching another orgasm. House pushed up onto his elbows, looking down at her while he picked up his pace, his pressure. With each thrust, he saw her eyes roll back a bit beneath her closed lids, saw her breasts jiggle with his movements. As she got closer she pleaded, "Harder!" and he inferred the "faster" and was slamming his hips against hers without any concern that it was too much. She screamed her orgasm to his ceiling, begging him to never stop, so he didn't. Even as she came down, the waves of bliss receding, he continued pumping into her. He pushed up to his hands and deftly took her leg and guided it to his shoulder, first one, then the other. Cuddy felt him hit her hilt, heard the obscene sounds of their groans and cries, their skin smacking together. Her ankles flanking his head, she touched herself. House felt her fingers just above his cock, brushing him gently each time he slid forward. "I need you, House," and he gave in, fucking her harder and faster than he thought possible as he hissed his own release, floating out of pain, out of worry, out of loneliness and into the hot, wet, tight embrace of this woman who needed him.

He finally stilled, propped above her. After he caught his breath, he looked down at her softly gazing eyes. He turned to one of her ankles and kissed it. "I only did that cuz it's a good 'getting pregnant' position," he informed her.

"Only?" she probed. He grinned and closed his eyes, already trying to recreate the feeling. "I thought it was a good 'blowing your mind' position."

House flopped down onto her, his cheek to her chest, and her feet slid down his sweaty back to rest on his hips, her thighs pinning his arms to the bed. "Don't flatter yourself," he slurred against her breast."

Cuddy laughed loudly and again he got to feel it ripple through her. "Oh, sorry. I misunderstood. I thought you enjoyed that."

"Hey. I'm just doing a job here," he explained.

Cuddy reached down and smacked his rump. "'Bout time you earned your paycheck."

**[H] [H] [H]**

They didn't speak of it after that night. They slipped right back into their typical relationship at work, each mulling it over in their minds privately and often. But a few weeks later, House and his team were conducting a DDX in the conference room when he saw Cuddy walk past the glass wall and enter his office. He grabbed his cane from the tabletop and walked to meet her, saying, "We interrupt you all being morons for this short break." He turned back to them as the door closed. "We'll resume your idiocy in a moment."

"What?" he asked Cuddy, trying to hide that he had any expectations. She looked at him with a tight grin that looked like it was holding back a classic Cuddy beam. She handed him a file. He opened it and taped to the left side was a pregnancy test with two bright magenta lines. On the right side lay a lab printout from a blood test confirming Cuddy's pregnancy.

House smiled down at the file, then trained it into a smirk before looking up at her. "I _told_ you my boys would get it done."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes and shook her head, but smiled. "Sperm is sperm, House. We got lucky."

"Fuck lucky," House chided. "This was talent, pure and simple."

Cuddy laughed and rolled her eyes.. "Your list of skills just keeps growing."

House pointed a finger into her chest. "Your womb is just like you. Incredibly particular."

"And apparently deluded about you."

"Admit it," he teased. "I'm a Darwinian champion."

Cuddy clicked her tongue. "Or you just managed to find the outlier who was willing to mate with you." She leaned in and patted his arm."Despite your impoverished survival skills."

Then she turned to walk out and House walked back to the conference room in parallel with her. She watched him in her peripheral vision as he turned to her and mimed swinging a bat and hitting one out of the park. She stopped at the conference room door, stuck her head in and said, "You're a pig," before continuing her walk to the elevator.

"What was that all about?" Cameron asked him.

He grinned. "Performance review."

"Didn't sound favorable," Foremen jabbed.

House sat back down, put his feet on the table and his hands behind his head. "I'm being promoted."


	3. Chapter 3

House and Cuddy didn't let on that anything was different, with Cuddy's status or with their relationship. They barely let on about it with each other. Nothing had officially changed between them, he reminded himself. He had gotten her pregnant…with naked, sweaty, hot, loud… No, no. He'd just helped her get pregnant. It didn't mean anything had to change.

Except now even the woman's ankles turned him on.

And except… in seven more months everything would change.

But they weren't really discussing any of that with anyone but Wilson, who was more than happy to coach them rather uselessly through the tangled mess they had made. Because despite the unofficial nature of it all, their relationship had tipped slightly. He was just a hint kinder and she was just a bit more patient. And their eyes met in crowded rooms and meetings, twinkling with their secret. But they were both also a dash more vulnerable and they both hated that feeling. So Wilson talked them down from ledges periodically, and they navigated it in their way.

House picked up on her nausea and left lemon drops and ginger tea on her desk without a note or a word. He'd read they could help. Cuddy forwarded him an appointment confirmation for a 10-week ultrasound, without a comment about whether he was supposed to come or not.

_Do you want me to come to this?_ he wrote back.

_Do you want to? _she replied.

_I want to know if you want me to._

_I want to know if you want to._

_I hate you._

_:)_

_I want to._

_I'm glad._

They met each other in the room at the appointed time, like strangers, and waited for the technician.

"This is stupid. I could do it," House complained.

"You don't specialize in this," Cuddy reminded him.

"Neither does this guy! He probably got his degree at a community college. Do you even need a degree for this?"

"Will you stop? Just let other people drive once in a while."

House pouted a little, mostly because he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do in this situation. Hold her hand? Express feelings? He was out of his wheelhouse and felt highly exposed.

The technician came in and exchanged pleasantries with Cuddy while House looked on. The tech nodded at House, but obviously sensed his tension and didn't push to engage. They couldn't be the first ambiguously-defined parents to be in this situation, and he had learned how to read and handle it.

When the fetus came into view House and Cuddy both stared at the screen, the same type of screen they had looked at hundreds of times for other people. These screens were windows into people's fates—confirming or negating suspicions, both good and bad. And there it was: a little bean-shaped cluster hanging onto the side of Cuddy's uterus. It was nothing, really. From this perspective, it looked the way a suspicious lump might look in any other area of the body. It was simple cell growth.

But those cells were half Cuddy's DNA and half House's. He was profoundly aware of that and suddenly so retroactively relieved that she hadn't had a baby with anyone else. How could a person who was half Cuddy be half anyone else, he wondered. But he didn't know if she wondered that also.

The tech started taking some measurements and Cuddy dared to slide her eyes to House's. His gaze left the screen and he looked at her. He didn't smile or smirk or show anything really. He just looked back at her.

"What do you think?" she finally asked him.

House kept looking at her flatly, then shrugged a little. "Nothing I want to share," he told her, nodding his head at the tech. Cuddy nodded and resumed chatting with the technician. When he'd finished up he asked if they'd like to hear the heartbeat. The question caught Cuddy off guard for some reason. She looked at House and raised her eyebrows in inquiry. House shrugged in a _Why not?_ gesture and Cuddy said sure.

The tech switched devices and moved the apparatus across Cuddy's belly. Suddenly amid the constant whooshing of Cuddy's internal functioning there came a defined and fast heartbeat; the thumping flutter was constant and clear. Tears sprang into Cuddy's eyes without warning and she beamed.

She looked at House. "Thank you," she whispered.

House looked at her and didn't know what to say because how do you respond to being thanked for a gift that was, in the end, a gift to yourself too? If a couple buys a house or a car with their joint income and one thanks the other, what should be said? Without glibness or sarcasm or teasing, he said the only thing that made sense. "I couldn't have done it without you."

**[H] [H] [H]**

Things changed slightly after that appointment. House didn't hide his interest in checking on her. He would pop into her office and ask how she was feeling. But it was all contained to work; he didn't go to her home or call her after hours. And he'd still harass in front of people, implying that she used to be a man or alternating between accusations that she was frigid or a tramp.

One day he came into her office with a small gift. She opened the plainly-wrapped package to find one of the bright yellow diamond-shaped decals parents hang in the windows of their cars that usually read in bold black font, "Baby on Board." House, however, had managed to find one that read "Baby Up in this Bitch."

Cuddy smiled and looked up at him. "I love this, but will never use it, you understand."

"Why not? It warns everyone about everything. No one will come near your vehicle."

Cuddy laughed. "Thank you, House. This was very thoughtful."

"I'm just protecting my offspring," he told her.

There was a long pause. Cuddy scooted her chair back a little and gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs across from her. "Uh-oh," House said. "Am I in trouble? You gonna punish me?" He grinned mischievously at her as he sat.

"We probably should have discussed this much earlier," Cuddy began.

"You punishing me? I mean, it's always been the elephant in the room."

"I'm talking about your role."

House nodded obediently. "I'm not submissive. I get it. But that's the whole challenge, Cuddy." He was smiling wolfishly now.

"House, I'm talking about your role as a father. Dumbass."

House just looked at her, his smirk frozen onto his face. "I know what you're talking about."

"And yet you're deflecting and making sexual innuendo. Is that how I'm supposed to infer you don't want a role in this?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you do."

"Do you want me to?"

"I want to know if you want to."

"I want to know if you want me to."

"I hate you."

He smiled sweetly.

Cuddy sighed and touched her hand to her mouth for a moment. "I want you to."

He offered her a small smile. "I'm glad."

They gazed across the desk at each other, not sure what was next. "So, do we need to talk about what that will look like?" Cuddy asked.

"_I_ don't need to talk about what that will look like, but usually when you use 'we' in that way you really mean you," he pointed out. "So do _you_ need to talk about what that will look like?" He watched Cuddy mull the question over. "Cuddy, does any of this look like what you thought it would look like?"

"No," she answered immediately.

"And is it bad?"

Her face visibly softened. "No."

"So do you need to talk about what my role as a father will look like?" He waited, but then added, "Or can you trust us to figure it out as we go."

"I trust you," Cuddy told him.

House nodded. "Us. You gotta trust us. I suck at this stuff without you." Cuddy smiled. "At least that's what Wilson tells me," he added.

Cuddy started cracking up suddenly. She picked up the "Baby Up in this Bitch" sign and declared, "We _have_ to put this in Wilson's car."

House joined in her laughter. "See, that's why I…" He caught himself.

"Why…" Cuddy started, but then she just kept laughing because she caught herself too.

**[H] [H] [H]**

A week later House went to Cuddy's office with another little gift—a onesie that read "I'm proof Mommy puts out."—but she wasn't in there. Her assistant said she hadn't been in yet that day and that he hadn't heard from her and had been trying to reach her. House paused for just a moment, his brow furrowed and his hand tight on his cane, then walked quickly over to the elevators, riding up to his floor but sticking his head into Wilson's office.

Wilson was meeting with a patient and looked up, irritation crossing his face when he saw who it was. "You seen Cuddy?" he asked Wilson.

"House, I'm with—"

"Have you heard from Cuddy?" House asked angrily.

Wilson was taken aback. "No."

House turned and closed the door as quickly as he'd opened it and immediately got back on the elevator.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House pulled up to the curb and strode as quickly as he could manage up to Cuddy's door, which was locked. He grabbed the key from under the potted plant and quietly let himself in. He shirked off his coat and kicked off his shoes as he padded carefully down to her bedroom, scattering the clothing across her hallway.

She lay in the fetal position under her quilt, her back to him. He couldn't tell for sure if she was awake or sleeping, but it didn't matter; he knew she felt dead. He slipped under the blanket and spooned up behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist, careful to stay high and avoid drawing attention to the part of her body that had let her down once again. He lifted her hair and pressed his face to the back of her neck. They stayed like that for a few minutes, then Cuddy bent her arm and found his hand on her stomach, grabbing hold. He pulled her tighter against him.

"I'm sorry," they both said at once.

"You?" he exclaimed in a whisper. "What the hell are you sorry for?"

"I lost your baby," she said, a sob choking her words.

House shook his head in disagreement. "Fetus, first of all," he corrected.

"Yeah," she snorted bitterly. "Cuz you asked me to have your 'fetus.' You said, 'Let's make a fetus.'" She cried freely now and he felt her shake in his arms.

"Second," he said, ignoring her rant. "You didn't do anything wrong. It was a biological event. It happens."

Her whole body stiffened in defiance of his comfort. "You don't have to tell me it happens. I've been through this three times now. And you don't need to hold me," she told him with her incessant strength.

He imagined her all alone the previous times, mourning babies she'd never met.

"I've never been through this," he told her. "And I want to hold you." He felt her relax a little against him. He lowered their interlocked hands to the slight rounding of her lower belly. "Does it hurt?" he asked her.

Cuddy raised their hands then, to her chest, to the left, above her breast. "Yes."

House felt a sharp sting at the back of his eyes, but willed it away. He exhaled slowly against her neck, then kissed it lightly. He didn't know what to do. He felt impotent and tactless.

"Why the hell are _you_ sorry?" she threw back at him. He didn't answer right away, wanting to be careful about his words at this time.

"I'm… I feel like I let you down. I don't know why I chose to be an optimistic idiot, for once in my life. I… thought somehow I could do this for you." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I thought I could do what other men couldn't."

"You knocked me up, House. You did your job," she comforted half-heartedly. "I'm the one who can't keep a pregnancy viable. Which is _my_ job."

"Cuddy, you have to know this is crazy. You can't possibly feel guilt for this."

Cuddy sighed. "But you can?"

_Fair enough_, he thought. He propped on his elbow and looked at her profile. She was tear-stained and blank-faced. "Do you want me to go?"

She was silent.

"Or stay? Do you want me to stay?"

He expected the usual volleying of _I want to know what you want_ statements. But she stayed silent and he realized that "want" wasn't in her vocabulary at that moment. So he decided.

"I'm going to stay. I want to stay." She nodded slightly and closed her eyes. House watched her fall asleep, then lay down on the pillow again, holding her close and wondering—uncharacteristically non-scientifically—how the fuck this hadn't worked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, so I can no longer mock gratefulinsomniac for estimating her fics will be, like, half the chapters they end up being. This is *not not not* the last chapter. I have at least two more, maybe three. The thing grew on me.**

**Thanks for reading, everyone. And many of you who review don't have accounts that allow replies, so I want to tell you I appreciate all the comments, emotional responses, thoughts, and encouragement. **

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy woke in the late afternoon light. She had a merciful moment of disorientation in which she'd forgotten all that had happened, why she was in bed in the middle of the day, and why House was pressed along her body, his arm still snugly around her.

House's breathing was even and slow, so she was careful when she rolled over to look at him. As she did, the Vicodin bottle he'd held loosely in his hand feel out of his grasp and rattled onto the bed.

It hurt to look at him. It hurt to think about the recent past; just days before they had been hopeful and laughing. It hurt to think about the future; she could end up alone with nothing but her work and endless ambitions to fill her days.

She didn't know anything right now except that she was tired of going through this. She knew the pain would dissipate over days, as the mundane creeped in and occupied the crevices of her mind, drowning out the delicate throb of loss. But facing those days was daunting.

She also didn't know if this time she would heal in the same way. The… fetus… had been his. Theirs. Could she let it go like so much dead tissue and evanescent spirit as she had the others? Or would it linger, trapped between them, only to slowly gather what bound them and pull it along in its eventual disappearance?

House opened his eyes and she watched his parallel navigation back to reality. To the loss. He looked at her with knit brows. They just stared at each other for a few seconds. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he finally asked, his voice low and scratchy with sleep.

"You're doing it," she told him. After another minute she asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

House looked like he was thinking, the he warned her, "It might be impossible." She raised her eyebrows in question and he continued. "Try… if you can… if this is even fair…" He hesitated.

"What, House?" she probed.

"Try not to regret it. I don't wanna regret it."

Cuddy gave him the weakest of smiles. "I don't think I do," she told him. After a little more thought she added, "I don't, because you're here. I was going to try again, with or without you. I was going to go through this again. But I'm not alone this time. So I don't regret it."

"I'll do anything you need me to do," he promised. He still felt illogical guilt.

She smiled. "Can I get that on tape?"

House grinned back a little. "I just want you to be okay, Cuddy."

"I will be, House. I always am."

House swallowed hard. "God, it's a shitty feeling, isn't it?"

Cuddy nodded, moved by his vulnerability. "The worst I've felt, really."

"It's up there," House agreed, and the fact that he'd felt pain that compared with this reminded her just what different lives they had lead. As if on cue, he picked up the pill bottle, opened it one-handed, and shook a tablet into his mouth. He offered Cuddy one then. She paused, then took it, just wanting enough of a buzz to dull the sharp edges of the pain so she could make food and take a shower without falling apart. As she swallowed the bitter taste in the back of her throat, she strangely felt closer to House than she ever had.

"I have to pee," he told her, as if apologizing for having to leave her temporarily. Cuddy nodded and he disentangled and walked to the bathroom.

When House was peeing, his sharp eyes caught the tiny dots on the floor. No larger than the tips of pencil erasers, the three dark circles lay in a neat row. It was blood Cuddy had missed in her quick effort to clean the mess away. Again he thought of her alone, dealing with it all. The blood served to crystallize the loss they had experienced and he didn't know how she had been so strong while feeling this loss physically, staring at a thousand times more blood than he was now looking at, knowing there was nothing to be done but clean it up and file it away in her mind.

It had been a little cluster of cells. That's all, he told himself. But it had been a mixture of them both, and it was dead now, relegated to the sewer system. Masochistically, he held the thought and flushed.

House suddenly felt hot, then light-headed. He was nauseous and gripped the wall. It wasn't the blood, of course. And he didn't have any delusion that that cell cluster had had consciousness. It was a fetus, not a baby. But somewhere along the coming weeks, it would have changed. It could have, potentially, gripped his finger at some point. Surprising him, tears welled in his eyes. So much potential, gone in an instant. Nothing now but waste.

After a moment of this, he grit his teeth, willing himself to get his shit together. The last thing Cuddy needed was him being weak right now. He wiped up the three drops and mentally said goodbye to something he hadn't been able to love yet, but something he had made and heard thriving inside Cuddy, making her so happy.

House pressed the heels of his hands hard to his eyes. He splashed water on his face, smacked his cheeks, and left the bathroom. Cuddy was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into space, but looked up when he came out.

"You okay?" he asked.

Cuddy shrugged. "You know."

"I do now."

"That's good stuff," Cuddy commented, feeling the effects of the medication.

House nodded. "I never settle for less," he joked half-heartedly. And Cuddy laughed. And somehow, with that throaty laugh, she did what she'd always done for him: assured him it would be okay.

**[H] [H] [H]**

They were in her kitchen and Cuddy was making sandwiches and drinking wine. She handed him a glass, which he gladly took. When she came and sat with him, plunking a sandwich in front of him, she declared, "It's harder and easier because it was with you."

House chewed and thought. "Care to expand on that?"

Cuddy chewed and thought. "No."

House nodded and they continued eating together. Cuddy got up to pour more wine. "Careful, Vicodin," House cautioned her. Cuddy gave him an _Are you kidding me?_ look. "I'm 90% Vicodin. I can handle it," he defended.

"It's okay. I'm a doctor," Cuddy joked. And she started laughing. She laughed hard. "And _you're_ a doctor," she added, cracking up. He watched her face change from amusement to grief. "And still, we can't fucking do this." She started crying.

House stood up and went to her. He wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his chest. Cuddy sobbed into him, overwhelming emotion wracking her body. After several minutes of purging all she felt, she calmed, composing herself. They stood there in the middle of her kitchen.

"I don't know if I can do this again," she told him, "but if I do, I can't be with anyone but you. It has to be you now."

House rubbed her back. "Whatever you want."

She looked up at him. "Why?"

"Because I like you too."

She smiled at him and wiped her nose. "Do you wanna get drunk and watch TV?"

House wiped tears off her face with his thumbs. "I mean, who ya talkin' to here?"

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy gave herself a full 24 hours to mourn, then tucked it all away into emotional abscesses, squeezed into a tight skirt, and got back to business. At work, Cuddy avoided any attempt House made at intimacy. If he even tried to give her a meaningful look, or lingered over a pause in conversation, she found a reason to move onto something else. She wouldn't let it penetrate work, which was this precious bubble in which she felt competent and in control.

Still, he'd go see her every evening. Sometimes he'd admit he was checking on her, but many times he'd offer a lame excuse that she'd just as lamely accept. There, she'd let him into her home and her heart. They'd eat takeout, watch movies, read in various spots in her house. Sometimes they touched. Sometimes they got drunk. Sometimes they bitterly mocked people with babies who walked by Cuddy's home or were characters on television. Sometimes she cried. But over time, the pain receded and more of their time was spent just hanging out. And it was easy and good.

Which is likely what prompted Wilson to enter House's office and sit down, a month or so later.

"What are you worried about, Wilson?" House asked without really looking at him.

"Who says I'm worried?" Wilson asked. "Maybe I came in here to gossip."

"You're clenched," House commented. "You don't clench for gossip." Wilson looked down at himself to spot whatever House was referring to, while House continued clicking around the monster truck website he was perusing.

"I haven't talked to Cuddy in a while," Wilson stated, persevering.

House turned to him, feigning shock, and rested his chin on his hand, looking at him with wide eyes. "Oh, this _is_ good stuff. Why didn't you say so?"

"I'm just saying," Wilson replied, holding his hands up defensively.

"I'm just saying too," House said, turning back to his computer. "Your gossip blows."

"I haven't talked to _you_ about Cuddy in a while either."

"You came in here to tell me what I'm not talking about?"

Wilson sighed. "Cuddy used to be approximately one third of what we'd spend time discussing. And I'd spend one third of my time with her discussing you. And she got pregnant. With your baby. And she miscarried. And now you both don't talk to me about the other."

"You realize gossip is supposed to be, like, news, right?" House continued ignoring him, but Wilson continued sitting there in his huff, so House turned to him finally.

"I just want to know if you guys are okay." Wilson said, smiling sadly.

"We're okay," House assured him.

"What's going on?"

House sighed and sat back in his chair. "Honestly, Wilson, it's just personal. It's hard to explain."

"Is that bad?" Wilson pressed.

House shrugged. "Dunno."

"Is it good?"

"Dunno."

"Are you guys gonna try again?"

"Dunno."

Wilson stared at him. "Your gossip blows too."

House smirked. "Ah, but I'm the one who knows Nurse Jeffrey is sleeping with a male surgeon."

Wilson blinked, reorienting. "What?!"

"Well, not sleeping with him so much as blowing him in the locker room."

"How do you know this?"

"I've got thirty-three percent more time to snoop now that I don't talk to you about Cuddy." He turned back to his trucks.

Wilson thought about it. "I'd still rather hear about you guys."

"I know, Wilson," House replied. "But we'll always have Nurse Jeffrey."

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy didn't know any better than House did what they were doing. She didn't know if this was friendship, courtship, foreplay… but she liked it. As the days went by and each night went on, House would grow quieter and she didn't know if it was him growing progressively more stoned or progressively more trusting, but they would ease into a parallel existence, going about their business while near each other. It was a side of House she'd never seen. Logically, she knew this side existed and that the man didn't spend his evenings throwing insults and sexual innuendo at his empty apartment. But the idea that this House—the one who played Angry Birds and did crossword puzzles and read medical journals in French—would feel comfortable showing up here and just being with her… She hadn't thought it possible, but it seemed like sharing all that pain had made him more comfortable with her.

House, too, was getting used to it. He had almost decided against rocking the boat. But then, House always rocked boats. She was reading a novel in an armchair while he lay on her living room floor listening to music on his phone, headphones on so he wouldn't disturb her.

"We can try again, you know," he said to the ceiling, the words out of his mouth too quickly. She looked up and he glanced at her briefly. "If you want to." He pulled out his Vicodin and popped one. She was quiet for a minute and he knew she'd heard him, so he just listened to his music and gave her time to think.

"Are you ready to lose another one?" Cuddy asked him frankly. She watched as House rolled onto his side and propped on an elbow, sliding his headphones to his neck.

"I'm ready to lose everything but you."

Cuddy's breath caught in her throat. "Me?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"Everything," he assured her, his eyes clear and bright.

It was primal, visceral, cathartic. She didn't know the word for her reaction, but she got out of her chair, fell to her knees, and crawled the five feet to where he lay, sprawled on his back. She took his face in her hands, sweeping gently down the roughness of him. Music buzzed lightly out of his displaced headphones. She straddled him and slid her hands up his shirt, his hands answering with a firm grip on her ass. "I guess you want to," he teased.

"Do you have a condom?" she replied. He looked at her quizzically. "I'm not ready yet. To go through it all again. I think it will be my last attempt and I need longer to gear up for it." House's face was a mixture of emotions—surprise, caution, compassion, hope—and he couldn't have looked more perfect to her. "I don't want to make a baby tonight. I just want to copulate with you." She smiled and he laughed big—a real, rare, Housian laugh. She stopped it with her kiss, gentle, slow, and probing. Against his mouth she murmured, "You aren't gonna lose me, House."

"I bet you say that to all your sperm donors."

"Only the ones I like."

House gripped her shoulders gently, pulling her back to look at him. "Cuddy, don't. Don't promise that. If this goes bad—"

"_This_," she said, sitting up on him, "has nothing to do with _that_. We can fail to make a baby and we're still what we've been for years."

"You don't know that. If we fail, you might look at me and know that. Every day."

"I already look at _me_ and know that," she pointed out. "At least now someone is with me in it." He studied her, trying to figure this out. She saw his gears turning. "I like you, House. I like being around you. I like what you do for me. I like how fucked up you are."

"Stop, I'm blushing."

"Do you like me?"

"Do you want me to like you?" Cuddy gave him a death stare. "I like you," he laughed.

"Good. That's settled. Now find a condom so we can do this in whatever positions we feel like," she added playfully.

"Positions. I like the plural," House teased shifting out from under her and limping to his backpack, abandoned near her front door.

"Are you sleeping with anyone else?" she asked suddenly.

He looked at her and made an _Are you crazy? _face. "_Else_ would imply there is someone I'm already sleeping with." Cuddy kept staring at him and shifted her eyes to his backpack. "No. I'm not sleeping with anyone. I just stay prepared should the opportunity arise again to nail your highly-particular ass. I also have handcuffs, sprinkles, and two expense reports in here."

Cuddy smiled coyly. "Stop. You're turning me on."

House returned to the floor in front of her, presenting her with a condom and a small jar of sprinkles. Cuddy looked at him like he was nuts. "You actually have sprinkles," she observed. House grinned. "Why?"

"It was gonna be a joke. A nice joke. If you got your period again and I found you swimming in frozen yogurt."

Cuddy smiled and looked at his amused, lustful, observant eyes. "Your heart," she said. "It's remarkable."

"That I have one?" he joked.

"That you manage to hide it." Their gaze held for a moment and House reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Do you actually have expense reports in there?"

"Fuck, no." He smiled.

Cuddy started laughing and the sound comforted him so much. It had disappeared in the initial despairing days, save her hysterical outburst fueled by wine, Vicodin, and grief. For weeks it had been slowly flowing back, and here it was pooling around him and he wanted to dive into it. He cupped her face and kissed her, murmuring, "I honestly don't know what one looks like." He was slow and deliberate, his tongue running over each lip and his hands gliding firmly down her neck, her shoulders, her arms.

"Excellent," Cuddy replied breathlessly. "I'm glad we pay your fellows to do something besides make your coffee and weather your abuse." As she spoke she was motionless, feeling every sensation of his mouth and fingertips in a new way. Without the potential conception woven into their contact, it was just him doing this with her for no reason other than to do this with her.

"Cuddy, if you get naked on top of me right now," he told her, unbuttoning her shirt, "I will learn how to do one, I swear." That laugh again, but this time as she pushed him on his back and kneeled over him, sliding her pants over her hips and down her rump. "You're so easy," he teased.

"You should see what I'd do for properly documented Medicaid case files."

House raised his eyebrows, his hands running slowly up and down the sides of her body. "Crazy shit?" he inquired, smirking at her.

"Stuff you only read about."

"I just look at the pictures."

"Oh. In that case, good thing I didn't send you the erotic email I wrote you the other day."

"It's cool. I read it in your 'drafts' box."

Cuddy froze and her eyes went wide. "You didn't."

House froze and his expression mirrored hers. "_You_ didn't." Cuddy blushed. "You really wrote me a dirty email?"

Cuddy relaxed a little. "You were joking."

"You weren't?"

Cuddy smiled, waggled her eyebrows, and tucked her lips in secretively. House immediately reached for his phone and started opening the email app. "I didn't send it!" Cuddy protested, laughing.

"That's okay, 'PartyPants.'"

"I changed my password," Cuddy said haughtily.

"I know, 'PartyPants1.'" Cuddy gasped and started wrestling with him for the phone. He was laughing and holding it out of her reach while trying to type.

"It's not finished," Cuddy whined. "I need to revise it."

"I'm sure it's perfect," House assured her, still laughing. "You write great first drafts."

"House!" she said sternly. "If you read it, I swear, it will be the last one you ever get."

House paused. He was a lot of things—childish, naughty, horny, and egocentric. And this was tempting all those facets of his personality. But he wasn't stupid. He closed the app and tossed his phone aside. "I better get it this week," he warned, pulling her down for a rough kiss while he worked to unhook her bra.

"You'll get it when I get my expense report," she promised saucily.

House pretended to reach for his phone again. "Just gotta text Cameron regarding an expense report." Cuddy let her bra fall off the front of her. House forgot the phone. "Okay," he relented, distracted. "I'll be patient." He suddenly rolled, flipping Cuddy onto her back. "I'll just keep myself occupied while I wait." He was over her, kissing down her neck. Cuddy hissed air when he took her nipple into his mouth and started pulling her panties off. "I just want to make you feel good," he told her in a low voice.

Cuddy sighed her assent and raised her arms above her head in surrender. She kept them like that as he began kissing her wrists, working his way down her outstretched arms. His weight pressed against her aggressively, and his mouth licked and nipped at her with more fervor, the further down her body he traveled. She had hooked his tee and pulled it off of him while he moved downward. When it popped off his head, he was right at her sex and didn't even pause before kissing her, licking along her wetness and pressing her thighs open with his hands. Cuddy moaned her appreciation, which only turned him on more. His tongue slid back and forth over her clit and she lowered her hands to his hair. She made herself escort every other thought from her head but the idea that House was going down her right now, and she felt his every motion. She whimpered at what she liked and he soon perfected the stroke of his tongue and the pressure of his mouth. It seemed like every pass was taking her incrementally higher, and the rise was so fucking hot she was panting. She told him, "I'm right there!" as if he couldn't tell from her hips rising up off the floor to meet his mouth. And she told him, "Don't stop!" as if there were any place in the world he'd rather be. Ever. And she started to tell him she was coming, but the words were swallowed with the gasp of air she took in to fuel the ride. She twisted and bucked against the overwhelming sensations, but House held her body in his huge hands and didn't change a thing as she cried out and shook, until she collapsed against the floor and gripped his head tightly to freeze him. He kissed everything nearby—her thighs and knees, her hips and stomach, and came up to meet her.

"Just so you know," he told her. She looked at him, her eyes cloaked with a mixture of satisfaction and still-brewing lust. "You can't get pregnant in that position."

She laughed, then suddenly shoved him hard, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. She was insanely focused, opening his pants and pulling them off unceremoniously. She grabbed the condom, tore in open, and put it on him because he was ready to go. "Can you get pregnant in this position?" she asked him, slowly sliding down the length of him.

House lifted his head and let it plunk to the floor, consumed by the sensation. "God, Cuddy, that is awesome." She didn't miss a beat, completely obsessed with fucking his brains out. She began riding him easily, her sex already wet with her arousal and his mouth. Her body protested a little at the abruptness, but she liked it. She liked that she wanted him more than it hurt. She cupped her own breasts in her hands, pushing them together for his visual enjoyment. She threw her head back and gasped with each thrust of him into her body. House was breathing hard and pressed his hands to her thighs, unable to take his eyes off of her. He slid one hand up to press his thumb to her clit, which she encouraged with a tilt of her pelvis to make more contact.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he said, the sharpness of the F-word helping to dilute the romance of his declaration. He wanted her in every way imaginable—in his life, in his heart, on his body—and he wanted to communicate that to her in a way that wasn't too scary for either of them. "Fucking" helped.

"God, House you feel so good," she moaned, moving faster, her hands in her hair now, her torso teasingly approaching him and then pulling away as she rode him.

"That's all I want," he reminded her.

"Fuck," she replied, her voice high and tight.

"Fuck," he answered, pulling her hips down onto his hard now.

They hid so much behind those "fucks."

"House, I'm so close. Come with me," she gasped.

House hummed with effort to even wait for clarification. "Now?" he begged.

"Yes, Now!"

And they came together in a wave of pleasure, relief, joy, comfort, and understanding. He felt an orgasm in his brain, he really did. It trembled and clenched and released in a sensation of blissful relaxation. She had, if only temporarily, fixed his angst.

She continued slowly moving along him and he felt the post-orgasm spasms of pleasure continue to shoot through him. Her fingertips now danced along his chest and stomach as she sighed and breathed her sounds. Eventually she stilled, sliding off of him and curling up along his body.

"I told you it's like riding a bike," he muttered. She giggled.

"I don't know what kind of bikes _you_ had as a kid." He laughed. She kissed his scruffy cheek, nibbled his earlobe. "Now for the real question," she said, running her hand up and down his chest.

"Hmm?" House asked, his eyes closed.

"Do you really have handcuffs in there?"


	5. Chapter 5

**So, be warned. This chapter has *a lot* of sex. But there is a point. It is not porn-without-plot. I am using their sexual encounters to illustrate some stuff as their relationship progresses. But, if smut makes you squirm (in a bad way) you might wanna just skim this one.**

**A kind reviewer just told me that a very key piece of dialogue in this chapter is also used in a movie called "Sex Tape." I don't want to take it out because it is an important part of the trajectory in the story. But I want to make sure everyone knows that I've never seen the movie and did not know about it. Otherwise, I would not have written that, or at least would have credited the film. **

**[H] [H] [H]**

That's how they went from whatever they were, beginning twenty years ago, to this… whatever it was. They'd crossed from colleagues to friendly colleagues to potential baby-makers to deeper friends to lovers. Going in that ridiculous order probably made the transition easier for them. Initially, during the baby venture, House had to learn how to keep his trap shut at work, for fear of castration. And the intense loss that moved them into friendship so cautiously helped them learn to hang out without humping all the time.

So now they were making up for lost time. They fell asleep after sex, woke in the night to have sex, had sex before getting out of bed in the morning, snuck sex at work. Sometimes he worked very late and let himself into her house, slipping between her sheets and her legs while they wordlessly began their lustful dance. Sometimes they didn't even make it out of the driveway to go somewhere, bailing on the outing in favor of a quickie in the front seat. It was a sex binge and House was constantly sneaking condoms from the clinic, which Cuddy pretended not to notice.

But she couldn't pretend not to notice when she found out House had broken the MRI machine yet again. She went into his conference room when he was in the middle of a DDX to bawl him out.

"No fever. And it doesn't explain the rash," Foreman was saying when she walked in.

"Everything and nothing explains a rash at this point," House countered. He glanced at Cuddy briefly. "Take the rash off the table for a minute and tell me what you got."

"With no fever and the neuropathy I think we have to keep paraneoplastic as a possibility."

"House—" Cuddy began, but House held his finger up to tell her to wait.

"We've scanned her up and down. There isn't a hint of cancer," Chase corrected.

"You _have_ scanned her up and down," Cuddy jumped in. "And broken another MRI machine in the process."

"Cuddy, not now," House told her. "Yell at me later."

He turned back to his team. "No one is discussing the self-mutilation."

"House, we have fourteen other MRIs scheduled just _today_," Cuddy went on.

"Not anymore," House told her.

"Maybe she's just crazy," Foreman said.

"Took the words outta my mouth," House said, glancing at Cuddy. He saw her face fall and he felt bad for a split second. But he needed her out of there. He couldn't do what he does and juggle their complicated dual relationship simultaneously. And right now, the patient was more pressing than a broken MRI machine he couldn't do anything about.

"The _patient_," Cameron interjected, "does not have a rare disease and a rare psychological disorder."

Cuddy stepped close to House. "From now on you—and your team—need to run MRI requests by me. I'm revoking your privileges." There was a pause while the team watched House ignore Cuddy, chewing on his thumbnail with his brow furrowed.

"Self-mutilation isn't that rare," Foreman argued. "Would you consider a rare condition and a rhinovirus?"

"A cold is more common than a self-mutilating disorder!" Cameron insisted. "House, he's proposing a coincidence. You hate coincidences."

Cuddy turned and walked, hearing House say as she approached the door. "It's Lesch Nyhan Syndrome." Cuddy paused with her hand on the knob, her back still to him.

"It explains the neuropathy, joint pain, _and_ the impaired kidney function," Chase assessed. "And it causes self-mutilating behavior."

They sat in silence a moment. House nodded. "Good. Test her HPRT levels to confirm. And start her on IV mycophenolate."

Cuddy walked out ahead of the team.

**[H] [H] [H]**

That evening Cuddy opened her door to find him leaning there with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers. There was simply no other way to put it: he looked so cute. He grinned at her tentatively, and even though she still felt ticked about the MRI machine, she also felt schoolgirl butterflies.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

House held a pouty face for a few seconds, but he could tell she wasn't that mad. "Do you still like me?" he asked.

Cuddy smiled reluctantly. "I like you."

House leaned in and kissed her lightly, then said softly. "Say it again."

Cuddy laughed."I like you," she said, hooking her arms around his neck. His arm around her waist pulled her against him, her bare feet stepping out onto the porch.

"Again."

Cuddy leaned her head back as he began kissing her neck "I like you," she sighed, her skin tingling from his warm touch mixing with the cool evening air. House was kissing her mouth again when a passing car honked and a group of teenagers heckled them.

"You're the neighborhood harlot," House teased.

"Yeah. Coo-coo-cachoo," she joked, taking the wine and flowers and setting them on the entryway table, then taking his hand to lead him into the house. "I made food," she told him.

"I don't want food," House told her, tugging back on her hand as he pushed the door shut with his cane. Cuddy looked at him with a conspiratorial grin.

"What do you want?"

"You. Getting naked. Telling me you like me. Til I'm satisfied."

Cuddy arched a brow. "Are you ever satisfied?" House licked his lip and shook his head. She stepped close and put her hands on his face. "I like you, House." She slid them down his shoulders and chest and kissed him gently. Then she pulled away and grasped the hem of her shirt. "I like you." She pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside. House's eyes devoured her. "I like you, House." She popped the button on her jeans with one hand, the other hand hooked lightly in his waistband. Then she turned away and bent at the waist, pulling her jeans down while presenting her ass to him. From between her legs she called "I like you." He laughed quietly. She stood up quickly, flipping her hair with a flourish, and turned back to him, slowly backing away in just her bra and panties. "I like you, House," she cooed, continuing to back toward the bedroom. He didn't follow initially, content to just watch her move. But then she reached behind and unhooked her bra, turning away before she let it fall from her breasts. "I like you," she told him, looking over her shoulder and continuing down the hall. The bra softly hit the floor and he was walking, pulling off his own jacket, shoes, button-down as he went, leaving his cane somewhere nearby.

They didn't make it to the bedroom. House pushed her against the wall and ground his hips against hers. "I like you," she whispered. He closed his eyes, letting her words and her hands pass over him as she fumbled with the rest of his clothes. "I like you, House," she said as she nipped at his ear after pulling his tee shirt off of him. "I like you," she said, turning gently and guiding him against the wall. "I like you, House," she told his throat, chest, belly. "I like you," she reminded him, on her knees, her mouth then all around him.

Her mouth continued to remind him that she liked him, but now without words. He felt it in her lips, kissing the most sensitive areas, foreshadowing what she was about to do to him. He felt in how her tongue moved with abandon along his cock, showing him she relished the chance to give him pleasure. He felt it in her moans of encouragement answering his groans of appreciation, his hand gently threaded in her hair.

He knew she liked him when his thigh spasmed suddenly—almost derailing his arousal—and she continued, but pressed a palm against the muscle, steadying the ever-present ache back into submission. When the pain eased, the pleasure only intensified, and fast. House moaned her name and told her how good this felt. He told her that he was so fucking hot for her, that he couldn't stop thinking about her, that he didn't know what had taken them so long. And he told her that he was sorry he broke the MRI machine. Cuddy responded with more tightness, more speed, more depth.

And then he told he was coming. Cuddy answered with a moan as if this were her apex of pleasure too, which only stretched it out for him into a full minute of frenzied ascent, paralyzed peaking, and satisfied return to earth.

He leaned against the wall, his bad leg trembling slightly while she kissed feathery kisses back up his body. She leaned into him and he stuck a hand in the back of her panties. He looked at her under half-closed lids.

"I like you, House," she told him. "Satisfied?"

He sighed contentedly. "You know me, Cuddy," his throaty voice answered. "Til I need my next fix."

**[H] [H] [H]**

The next day was Saturday and House was still half asleep in Cuddy's bed when he heard the doorbell. Cuddy had gotten up long before to do yoga, read the paper, blend repulsive greenish looking smoothies, and generally be productive—her typical Saturday and his anti-Saturday. He heard quiet voices, thumping footsteps, and high-pitched voices.

Suddenly Cuddy's bedroom door opened and a four-year-old boy was staring at House.

"Hi," House said, his voice a low morning rumble.

"Hi," the kid replied. "Who are you?"

"House."

"Oh." The kid took off back down the hallway yelling, "Mommy, there's a House in Aunt Lisa's bed."

House listened and heard muffled adult talk, a hum of intensity building in it. He grabbed the clothes within reach and got dressed under the covers, then sat on the edge of the bed, steeling himself. Once ready, he limped down the hall, hand pressed to thigh, to find an older girl marching with his cane in hand, bandleader style.

"Silly rabbit," House told her, sliding it out of her hand as he walked passed. "Sticks are for gimps."

"So it's not just _a_ house in Aunt Lisa's bed," Julia observed, eyeing him up and down. "It's _the_ House."

"None other," House replied, nodding at her in greeting while he practically lunged for the coffee pot. Cuddy stopped him with a hand on his arm and put a hot cup in his hand, already cream-and-sugared. "Always three steps ahead of me," House mused, winking at her.

The awkwardness was thick. The children—there was another one in the mix now—were oblivious and continued roaming around Cuddy's house and returning to report on new pillows, a squirrel outside a certain window, a moved rocking chair.

"So how long has this been going on?" Julia asked, clearly used to talking amid incessant child commentary.

"Cuddy getting me coffee?" House asked. "That was our first time. I was saving myself for 'the one.'"

Julia glared at him, but he saw a tiny pull at the corners of her mouth, revealing her amusement. Apparently all Cuddy women were suckers for his particular brand of charm.

"We just came by—" Julia told him.

"Unannounced," Cuddy added, playfully snarky with her sister.

"Yeah, usually my spinster sister is lonely on Saturdays so we occasionally dust her off and take her out," Julia snarked back. Cuddy narrowed her eyes at her.

"I already dusted her," House said from over the rim of his mug.

Cuddy's face twisted into a cheek-biting attempt to hide a smile and her twinkling eyes slid away from either of them to look out the window.

Julia smirked at her sister. "I can see that."

They both looked at Cuddy, who was vibrating with both self-consciousness and delight that her sister was no match for House. "So maybe now we can just take her out," Julia said. She looked back and forth between them. "We're going to the farmer's market. It's a huge one with activities for kids and all that. We thought you'd want to come stock up on your rabbit food." She looked at House. "Do you eat her rabbit food?" Julia asked, looking for an ally against Cuddy's vegetarianism.

"I eat a lot of things," House said, which made Cuddy suddenly clear her throat and stand up straight.

"Okay!" she sang. "Ummm, let me think. This is… a total surprise."

"For me too," Julia said accusatorily.

"So, yeah. I'll go. We can… talk in the car." She started moving around the kitchen, gathering sunglasses, keys and such.

"Do you wanna come?" Julia asked House. Her stare definitely made him feel like there was a right and a wrong answer to this question.

"It might be kinda weird for you to grill your sister about what the hell she's thinking having me in her bed when I'm sitting right there, don't you think?" He sipped his coffee.

Julia looked at him evenly. "Believe me. I know what she's thinking."

House looked back, just as calm. "Do you know what I'm thinking?"

"Ready!" Cuddy sang. "House, I'll… see you later?"

House nodded. "Can I get back in your bed?"

Cuddy leaned in and kissed him lightly. "This changes nothing about you being allowed in my bed," she murmured before leaving with her sister and what felt like eight million kids.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House wasn't sure what to call it when Wilson asked if they were officially dating. It was hard to put a label like dating on a couple that worked all day together, spent each night together, and had known each other for decades… dating sounded too light. So, per usual, they just were what they were and allowed everyone else to label it whatever they wanted to.

"I think I'll call you adversarial potentially-procreating soul mates," Wilson declared.

"Pithy," House replied.

And later that same day, after contemplating what to call their relationship, he watched Cuddy come into his office when he was flipping through a pile of journals looking for the study he remembered that described an off-label protocol for a drug he was considering for use on his current patient. She entered, locked his doors, closed his blinds, and slid her body between him and his desk. House grinned and put his hands on her hips.

"Uh-oh. Am I in trouble, boss?"

Cuddy ran her hand down his cheek, a small smile on her lips. Then she turned suddenly, hiked up her skirt in one fluid motion, and bent over his desk.

"Oh, _you're_ in trouble, you naughty administrator" he teased, his fingers playing with the edge of her panties.

"House, please. Be efficient for once in your life," she told him.

House removed his hands. This was beyond his Cuddy-at-work fantasies and he wanted to drag it out.

"Say 'please' again."

She looked over her shoulder and glared at him. "I can just leave."

House sat back in his chair like he had all the time in the world, although the truth was he felt like his jeans would burst open any second. "Listen, I'm not the one so horny I'm interrupting your work." He laid his palm on her ass, his thumb teasing her sex through the thin silky layer.

Cuddy closed her eyes and sank lower on the desk. "Please, House. Please just make this elevator ride and putting up with your bullshit worth my while."

House clicked his tongue. "You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Please. Fuck me. Now. House."

"Ohhhhh! I mean, of course, now that I know what you're after! I didn't know if it was an expense report or what."

He stood and was opening his pants when she complained, "You _still_ don't know how to do one."

"I know how to do things that actually matter," he told her, sliding her panties down her legs and pushing slowly inside her. Cuddy moaned so lavishly his eyes slid to the doors to check for movement.

"This," he said with effort, "is kind of a dream come true for me."

Cuddy continued sighing quietly with each thrust, but she grinned and whispered, "Guess you'll have to invent new fantasies now."

"Nah. I'll just change your outfit," he puffed out. He was moving faster and harder now and her breath quickened. She felt his hand slide across her hip and find her clit. He knew this had to be fast without her reminding him, so he didn't waste any time teasing her and went right to what he knew worked.

When Cuddy came her legs went stiff and she bit the tip of her own thumb to stay quiet. The sight of her, wrestling with her own bliss while sprawled across his desk, plus the urgency of the situation that condoned him madly doing her from behind, made House let go with a fast-but-intense shock of ecstasy. It was all over as quickly as it had started. But it was awesome.

Right after, House sat back down, pulling her with him into his lap, where they both caught their breaths and hummed their satisfaction. House kissed her head gently when it lolled against his shoulder.

Finally she rose, bent to hitch up her panties, and straightened to shimmy down her skirt. He watched it all with amusement and adoration, then yanked his clothing back into place as she began to saunter toward his door.

She stopped with her hand on the handle, and without looking back at him she said, "I love fucking you."

House smiled. "Funny," he said. "I fucking love you."

She looked over her shoulder at him, grinned, and left.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Then one night Cuddy said, as House kneeled naked above her opening a condom, "Wanna _not_ wear that?" House paused, mid-roll and raised his eyebrows. Cuddy looked slightly bashful. "I know this isn't exactly dirty talk, but I'm ready to try again. If you are."

House grinned and threw the condom over his shoulder dramatically. His response to her question was to slide smoothly inside her without breaking eye contact.

"Cuddy," House said. She thought he was just moaning her name, which bought him time to get up his nerve. He couldn't fight the impulse anymore, or couch his feelings in dirty talk. There they were, naked, him inside her body. She wanted to have his baby. Again. They had suffered so much. They had laughed so hard. She knew him so well. He pressed his face to her shoulder. "Cuddy, I love you. I am so in love with you." He kept moving into her, but he held his breath, hiding his face against her breast while he kissed her.

Cuddy cupped his face, turning it up to make him face her. She wrapped her legs tighter around him. "Say it again," she told him.

House swallowed hard and made himself lock with her gaze. "I love you."

Cuddy arched her back and spread her arms luxuriously across the bed, basking in him. "Again," she requested.

House smiled. "I love you, Cuddy." He was braced on his arms above her and pushed slowly into her. He pulled out and pushed in again. "I love you."

And that's what she heard the whole time they made love that night, until she heard it in her head even when they separated, even when they were in different rooms, even when they were miles apart. She heard him and she answered him until he heard it too. And eventually, it wasn't hard anymore. It was so, so easy.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House burst into Cuddy's office while she was on the phone. "You took my patient off the surgery schedule!"

Cuddy uncovered the mouthpiece she had covered when she saw him coming and said coolly, "I'll have to call you back." She hung up and looked at him, trying to stay calm in response to his anger. "Your patient can't have a second surgery this soon."

"He could if he were on the surgery schedule," House sniped.

"House, the risks of two rounds of anesthesia are too high."

"Higher than death? Because that's what's gonna happen without this biopsy."

"Stop being so dramatic," she said, waving a hand at him. "He could easily die from the second surgery. I'm not letting you take that risk because you have a hunch."

"Don't insult my hunches, Cuddy," House warned. "I've spent years honing my diagnostic skills. You know damn well my hunch beats the test-proven diagnosis of any other doctor in this hospital."

"And I know you want an answer. But I can't let you breach hospital protocol. Find another way."

"Chase will do the surgery! You don't even need to get a surgeon to agree to it," he argued.

"It's not about that," she countered.

"No, it's about you being a control freak."

"When it comes to this hospital, yes, I'll gladly accept that title. No surgery."

House raised his arms, clenching his fists in frustration. "Arrrgh! How can you be so hot, yet so infuriating?"

Cuddy opened a file folder on her desk. "I've spent years honing my skills too."

"I'm not done yet," he declared, pointing at her. "I'll figure out a way to convince you."

"I expect nothing less," Cuddy said, beginning to write on a document. House turned to the door and began walking out. "I love you," Cuddy added kindly, still writing.

"I love you too," House grumbled. "Moron."


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi, everyone. So it's this chapter and then one more to finish up this fic. **

**Also, for those of you who already read chapter 5 before I added to the author's note… A kind reviewer notified me that the "I love fucking you"/"I fucking love you" lines were used in a movie called "Sex Tape." I just want to assure everyone that I have never seen that movie. It's a total coincidence. I debated changing it, but some people talked me out of it. At any rate, I hope you all know that I give credit where credit is due and would never have knowingly stolen lines or concepts from something.**

**Finally, a huuuuuuuuge thanks to gratefulinsomniac for encouraging me that I had the skill to write a very tricky scene in this chapter. I told her I was nervous because one false move and the whole thing would tip from funny to cheesy. She told me she had confidence I could do it, so I did… and I laughed the whole time I wrote it. I hope you do too. If not, blame her. LOL**

**[H] [H] [H]**

House was in his apartment for the first time in a while. His monthly poker game was that night, and he'd even invited Wilson this time because the man kept whining about how he never saw House anymore. But then, of course, the guy made him regret it by showing up an hour early.

"It's open," House called from his spot, sprawled on his couch watching the Ultimate Fighting Championship and drinking a beer. Wilson came in, got a beer from the fridge, and sat next to him. "You're early," House groused.

"Sorry. Did I interrupt your careful preparations?" All House had done was buy beer and set up a card table, and Wilson knew it.

"I was gonna relieve some tension before the game, but now you ruined it."

Wilson sneered at the idea. "Why do _you_ need to 'relieve tension'?"

"Well, by 'relieve tension,' I meant masturbate."

"I know what you meant. But you're getting regular nookie now. Can't imagine you need to squeeze in a masturbation session every time you're alone."

House took a swig of his beer and looked pensive. "I have two clever retorts for that and I can't decide which one is better."

"I'll decide."

"Okay. A. Cuddy is insatiable and twisting one off helps me last longer," he explained flatly, still staring at the television.

"Got it."

"Or B. Sex with Cuddy is so hot, I get horny just remembering the sex we just had."

"B is better," Wilson said immediately. "The first one makes you sound weak."

"Yeah, that's where I was leaning," House agreed.

They drank in silence, watching one fighter hold the other in what seemed like an endless choke hold.

"So _I_ might be getting nookie soon," Wilson told him.

"Soon?" House asked. "I feel like you guys just _had_ your family reunion."

"I'm dating someone," Wilson confessed, ignoring his joke.

"Please tell me it's Foreman."

"No. Gross."

"Racist."

"I'm not racist."

"Homophobe."

"I'm not _homosexual_. That doesn't make me homophobic."

"Tell that to Foreman."

There was a pause. "See, I don't even get that."

"I know. I'm drunk. Continue."

"She's a university professor. I met her in a coffee shop. She's smart. Funny. Beautiful."

"Careful. Your cousin's gonna get jealous."

"And I've gone out with her three times."

"But you haven't slept with her yet?"

"No," Wilson lamented. "She's… careful. She wants a lab report verifying I have no STDs."

"_Damn_, that's _hot_."

"She's practical!" Wilson said defensively. "We advise patients to do that."

"We also advise patients not to take part in oral sex while driving. Doesn't mean that's the hot choice."

Wilson looked at him with curiosity, but decided against probing into that. "Well, anyway. She took me to a faculty event last week. Now she wants to meet _my_ friends."

"All two of us?"

Wilson glared at him. "Convenient that they sleep together now."

"We don't so much sleep as screw like teenagers."

"Still. Convenient."

"So you're dragging us on a tedious double date like some crappy TV show."

"I mean, it's only like TV if you insist on calling it a 'double date.' Otherwise it's just friends going out."

"Except she's not our friend," House pointed out. "In fact, I already don't like her. With her highfalutin lab report demands and meeting orchestrations. Who does she think she is, the CDC?"

"Will you just do it? And try to be somewhat human-ish?"

House considered. "If I can pick the venues."

Wilson narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "You can pick, but I get pre-approval. No porn. No trucks." He gestured at the television. "No feats of strength."

"Fine. I just want to go somewhere good in case she's a total lame-o," House explained. "Then I can still have fun." They were quiet a minute then House asked, "What's she a professor of?" Wilson didn't answer so House slid his eyes over to him. Wilson took a long swig of beer.

"Gender studies."

"Oh, gawd!" House rolled his eyes.

"She's working on some really interesting studies," Wilson defended.

"Like how many hoops a man will jump through for access to a woman's squeezebox?"

Wilson looked thoughtful. "Jesus, I hope that's not one of them." They both started laughing.

"You're really gonna throw off her data, you outlier."

"So," Wilson said, sealing the deal, "Friday night?"

House thought about it, then texted Cuddy. She said yes, but reminded House that they were going to be visited by her mother that same weekend. "Goddamn these women who want to meet me. I have to deal with Arlene and… What's her name?" Wilson hesitated. "I gotta know her name eventually, dude."

"Sage."

"Oh, gawd!"

**[H] [H] [H]**

House was finished with his game earlier than usual. Wilson threw off the dynamic and he wasn't making as much money as he normally did. Plus he missed Cuddy. He let himself into her house and heard music coming from the bedroom…. loud pop music. He approached quietly and peeked in.

There he found Cuddy, clad only in her bra and panties, the entire contents of her closet spread across the room—on the bed and draped over furniture. And he heard the Bangles—Manic Monday to be precise—blaring from the speaker. And he saw Cuddy dancing wonderfully while she tried on clothes. And singing horribly while she tried on clothes.

He'd never seen anything like it.

He continued watching her intermittently dance, pull items out of her closet, assess them, and sort them into piles. One skirt gave her pause and she shimmied into it, slipped on some heels, and checked it out from different angles in her full-length mirror.

"Keep it," House told her and Cuddy jumped out of her skin, whirling around toward him.

"Jesus, House! You fucking scared me!" She held her hand to her heart and started laughing. "Asshole. Why are you home so early?" She started to unzip the skirt, but House approached.

"Allow me," he told her, circling her with his arms and slowly unzipping her skirt. The song changed and Madonna came blaring out. House smirked down at her as he let the skirt fall to the floor. "You like the Bangles and Madonna? How do I not know this?"

Cuddy looked sheepish. "I'll turn it off," she said, making a move toward the iPod.

House pulled her back to him. "Why?"

"You don't like this kind of music."

"I like music that makes you dance around in your underwear." He grabbed her ass.

Cuddy's eyes widened. "How long have you been watching?"

"Long enough."

She covered her face with her hands. "God, how embarrassing!"

House laughed. "I still don't know how we have not covered, in all these years, what music you like."

"This isn't, like, representative of my music tastes," she clarified.

"Why are you being defensive?" he asked. "You're allowed to like shitty music." He winked.

"_That's_ why," she said, pointing a finger in his chest. "You've been a music snob since the day I met you, and I don't need to hear it."

House was smiling ear to ear. "So when I leave you home alone, you binge on pop melodies and synth rhythms?"

Cuddy stared at him. "Okay, I don't even know what that means. I just like what I like."

"And apparently they stopped making what you like in 1988."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "Says the man who primarily listens to dead guys, save the occasional eighty-year-old."

House laughed. "Touche." But then a Duran Duran song came on and Cuddy buried her face in his chest.

"Shut up," she muttered.

House laughed harder. "Can I lie on the bed and watch you dance if I promise not to mock?"

Cuddy looked at him cautiously. "Yes." She stepped away and started replacing items in her closet.

House stretched out on the bed—on top of a big pile of clothes, of course—and asked, "But Cuddy?" She glanced at him. "Don't sing." She stopped what she was doing, gave him her middle finger with a dramatic flourish, and started singing along at the top of her lungs.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy woke in the night to an emptiness in her bed. "House?" She got up and listened and heard movement in the house. She slipped out of bed and into the hall, where she found House pacing, earphones on, flipping his Vicodin bottle around in his fingers. He didn't hear her coming, so when he turned and saw her standing in the hallway, he startled.

"Good lord, woman!" he exclaimed, taking his headphones off. "You ever seen a horror movie?"

"What are you doing?"

He looked hesitant. "Leg's hurting. I need to walk. It distracts me." Cuddy gave him a look she thought expressed empathy, but he read as pity. "Don't start that, Cuddy. It's my leg, my problem. I can handle this." He was agitated and talking fast.

"Can I do anything?" Cuddy asked.

"Nope." House began pacing again.

"House, you've been sleeping here for, like, a year. You've never done this."

"Correction. You've never caught me doing this."

"Why is it so bad tonight? Did you do something unusual?"

"No, Cuddy."

"Are you stressed? Worrying about something?"

"No!" he yelled a little, irritated. "I didn't do anything. Except lose a huge chunk of muscle. But that's old news."

Cuddy looked wounded. "I was just trying to help."

"There's no helping this. That's what kills you. You and me both. Just go back to bed."

"You're mad at me."

House sighed in exasperation, continuing to pace. "No. I'm mad at my leg."

"And at me for doing what we did. To your leg."

"God, Cuddy. It isn't about you!" he yelled, stopping his pacing to look at her. "I need a sign or a fucking tee shirt that says that for every person who takes my chronic pain personally." He took a deep breath. "It's not in my head. It's not the drugs. It's not my emotional dysfunction. It fucking hurts, and when it hurts bad, I like to seclude myself with the people who get that. Namely, me." He paused and rubbed his temples with one hand, the span between his middle finger and thumb hiding his eyes from her.

"I know your pain is real," she told him softly.

"You don't. Not if you think it's stress. Or that I sat funny at my desk. Not if you think there's anything to do on nights like this but pace and take more Vicodin."

"I'm sorry," she said, less from meaning it and more for not knowing what to say.

"I don't want you to be sorry. I know you are every fucking day. Extra sorry when I need a refill. I don't want that. I just want you to go to bed."

"I..." She hesitated. He resumed pacing and when his back was to her she finished. "It just doesn't feel right to leave you alone when you're in pain."

House laughed bitterly. "Then you can never leave me alone." He stopped and looked at her again. "Cuddy, here's exactly how I know you—and Wilson and Cameron and my mother and everyone else in my world—don't get it. Because you think this is interpersonal. I'm not lonely. I'm not scared. I'm not depressed. Those things might be helped by someone refusing to give up and leave me alone. But this is physical. You staying here wringing your hands doesn't help. All it does is add loneliness because you can't understand. And fear because I might be a dick to you. And depression because I'm making you feel bad." He didn't know what else to say. And his leg was throbbing. She stood there, helpless. "Go to bed, Cuddy. I can handle this. I do it all the time."

She walked up to him and touched his ribs with one small hand. "I love you," she told him. "I know that doesn't help."

"Doesn't help this," he said, gesturing at his leg. "Really helps other mangled parts of me though." He offered a tight smile. "Now please go away so I can hurt in peace."

Cuddy turned and went back to bed, where she stared at the ceiling for the two hours it took him to finally join her. He slid in carefully, lifting his leg gingerly. Under the sheets he found her hand and squeezed it "I love you too," he said into the dark. And Cuddy squeezed back.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House and Cuddy were out with Wilson and his new girlfriend, Sage, who was an irritating mix of academia and flower child. Everything was "fascinating." It sucked, of course. Nothing was worse than hanging out with the two people you could be yourself with, then adding a third and having those two people tell you again and again not to be yourself for four fucking hours. And these things usually ended with a fight (or two) because he was himself even though that was suddenly unacceptable. All because Wilson wanted to get some strange.

They'd made it through dinner, at any rate, and now were at one of House's favorite bars. He had frequented it ever since he first moved to Jersey because it had almost no college students, good beer choices, and a blues band that played on Friday nights. He had come to know them well and sometimes they even let him sit in on sets, which was all part of his plan.

Around everyone's second drink—House's fourth—the bassist said into the microphone, "Dr. House is in the house tonight." House grinned into his empty glass.

Cuddy lightly grabbed his arm. "Is he talking to you?"

"He is," House admitted. "He wants me to play with them."

Cuddy clapped with glee. "Yes! Do it!" She, too, was bored, and this would be exciting.

"Have you done this before?" Sage asked. House nodded. "Fascinating." House looked at her with disgust as he stood up and moved toward the small stage.

One of the guys handed him a guitar. "All tuned up for you, son." House nodded hellos at all the guys, swapped his cane for the guitar, and sat on a stool.

Cuddy was smiling broadly as she watched him give the guitar a few strums, count out a beat with a thump of his hand, and then begin the song that the whole band seemed to have silently agreed upon.

It was the first of several songs, and the trio left behind began chatting and ordering more drinks as they watched him. Cuddy was mid-story when a new song started that she noticed. It stood out just a little from the series of other blues tunes that had all sort of blended together for her. She paused talking, then said with surprise, "I think I know this song."

"What is it?" Wilson asked.

"I… can't… place it." They all listened.

"Nevermind," Wilson said. "It's probably called 'Backwater Baby Blues' or some other name I'll never remember."

Then Cuddy heard House sing, _I made it through the wilderness._

She scrunched up her brow in thought. "I know this song," she insisted.

_Somehow I made it through_.

Cuddy saw House meet her eyes for a split second before looking away. She knew that expression; he was trying not to laugh.

_Didn't know how lost I was until I found you._

Cuddy was going nuts! It was right on the tip of her tongue as she continued listening to him. The tune was adapted and unfamiliar in a way, yet _so_ familiar. And the words! House was intentionally not looking at her and continued singing while Cuddy wracked her brain. Then it happened so fast.

_But you made me feel…_

"Oh my God!" Cuddy shouted.

_Yeah, you made me feel…_

"It's…" Cuddy was snapping her fingers madly, and then House looked at her again and laughed as he sang _Shiny and new._

"Like a Virgin!" Cuddy yelled, just as House sang the same words. She started cracking up.

"What?" Wilson asked, incredulous. "Like, Madonna 'Like a Virgin'?"

"Listen!" Cuddy exclaimed, tearing up with laughter.

_Gonna give you all my love, boy._

His choice to stick with "boy" just killed Cuddy. She was losing it.

"No way," Wilson still protested.

"Look, Wilson!" Cuddy cried. "Everyone's laughing. House is laughing. People are singing along!" Every woman in the bar was dancing in her seat.

_You're so fine. And you're mine._

"Why would he do that?" Wilson asked, laughing himself now.

"He… god, it's a long story. He's making fun of me. Of my taste in music."

"Or," Sage chimed in, "he's found a _fascinating_ way to bridge your distinct musical tastes."

Cuddy looked at her with annoyance. "He's just teasing me. It's what he does."

When the song ended, _Can't you feel my heart beat for the very first time?,_ House looked at Cuddy for as long as he could without laughing. Watching her crack up was so great, but he wasn't quite done. He leaned into the mic. "Thank you. That last one went out to my buddy, Dr. James Wilson."

"Me?!" Wilson exclaimed, shocked.

"I think tonight might finally be the night, Wilson," House continued. He held up his hands. "Fingers crossed."

Both women, and everyone nearby, started grinning at Wilson. "I'm… I'm not a… I mean, he's joking!" People started tittering at his embarrassment. "Oh, for chrissake, House."

House was up now, chatting with the band on their break. Cuddy watched him talk with an ease that he didn't usually have when he talked to people. He was relaxed, smiling occasionally, and engaged with the speaker. She turned to Wilson. "Look at him up there. I barely recognize him. He's so… happy."

Wilson looked over. House was holding a guitar, admiring it as the owner looked on. "I recognize him," Wilson commented. "That's how he looks with you."

Sage tilted her head and said, "Fascinating." But Cuddy kept looking at Wilson and saw that the comment was not intended as flattery. He was serious.

And that was how she really recognized the significance of all they had gone through and where they'd ended up. She saw House walking back to the table. A few random people spoke to him on the way, and he answered, folded into himself and looking away as he made cursory responses with a slight scowl. But as he got closer, his eyes met hers, twinkling with amusement at his little prank. She watched him unfold, smile easily, and reach out to pull her close. He hugged her and laughed quietly in her ear.

"I saw you laughing," he told her. "I couldn't look at you or I wouldn't have made it through the song." He kissed her forehead. "See the things you make me do?"

Cuddy took him in again, smiling easily, his arm loose around her waist, his eyes holding her gaze.

"I do," she said, smiling.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House sat there like a man on death row, except that he had access to alcohol. Cuddy walked into the room and stared at him, hand on hip. "I know it's awkward," she said apologetically, "But she and Julia are so pissed at me for not telling them about us. Now she's demanding to meet you." House sighed. "But don't worry," Cuddy said. "My sister has already prepped her so you can just be yourself and you surely won't be as bad as Julia has described," she teased.

"Julia has these ideas," House clarified, "from your years of reporting on my every false move."

Cuddy walked over to him and straddled his lap. "I did," she admitted. "She even dared to suggest I was obsessed with you," she said into his neck.

"I agree," he added. "The way you never went out with me, professionally castrated me, diabolically manipulated me with Wilson. Clearly you had a crush."

Cuddy pulled back and looked at him. "I never went out with you because you never asked me out," she said, smacking his chest.

"And the castration and diabolical manipulation?"

"That was just for fun," she said against his lips.

In the midst of their developing makeout session, House's cool glass of scotch pressed against Cuddy's back, there was a brief rap on the front door before it opened. Arlene was in the living room doorway before Cuddy has fully disentangled and House had to keep her on his lap to hide his arousal.

"Mom!" Cuddy exclaimed. "Hi!" House kept his hands on her hips and stood up with her, keeping her body blocking him. He started thinking about gangrenous limbs and Wilson getting a pedicure.

"Hello, dear," Arlene said, looking them up and down. "My, I'm having flashbacks to walking in on you and your boyfriends in high school." She looked directly at House. "Except you have less acne and more stubble."

"And she's got less inhibitions and more ass," House offered. Cuddy elbowed him in the ribs.

Arlene looked him in the eye, then craned her neck to check out Cuddy. "He's got you there, dear."

"Thanks, Mom,"

Arlene held a hand out to House. "Arlene Cuddy."

House took her hand. "Greg—"

"House. Yes. I know. Why do you two insist on using last names? It's so strange."

House looked at Cuddy, then back at Arlene. "Because she's Cuddy."

"So am I," Arlene replied, which made House laugh out loud.

"No. You're Arlene," he corrected.

"Wasn't your father a military man?" Arlene went on. "He likely went by 'House.' Is that why you like to?" House paused. This lady was more calculating than he'd even imagined.

"It's not just the military, Mom," Cuddy chimed in. House loosened his grip on her, signaling it was now safe to step away and take her mom's coat. "Medicine does it too. That's why we do it."

"It's still odd," Arlene complained, following Cuddy to the kitchen after she'd hung up her coat.

House tilted his head back, draining his drink, then headed after them. "Here we go," he said under his breath.

Arlene was seated at the island when he entered, eyeing him again. "Lisa tells me you run a very special department."

House nodded. He found himself afraid to say anything to this woman. "It's unique."

"You cure rare diseases?"

"Aim to. In a nutshell."

"How did you get into that sort of specialty?"

"Um… I'm a diagnostician. So… I diagnose. I studied infectious disease and nephrology."

"He has a gift," Cuddy said, placing a drink in front of her mom.

"That too," House agreed.

"What's wrong with your leg?" Arlene asked abruptly.

The usually unflappable House was… flapped. He glanced at Cuddy, who had tucked in her lips and was concentrating very hard on the pot she was stirring.

"Um, it was an infarction. Blood clot in the muscle cut off oxygen," House explained.

"So it's damaged? The muscle?" House studied her closely. He didn't know exactly why he expected her to know this story. Of course it wasn't a fun one to tell, but it was also… part of their history. Then again, he realized, he hadn't told anyone the story in any real way either. Only the people involved knew the details.

"It's gone, Mom," Cuddy jumped in. "The muscle died. It was removed surgically."

"Does it hurt?" Arlene asked, but in a tone that suggested idle curiosity, not concern. She looked at House, however, not Cuddy.

"Always," House answered.

"Huh," was all Arlene said in response.

"So," Cuddy interjected, trying to move things along. "Are you two hungry? Dinner is ready." She carried plates and silverware into the dining room.

"Sure," Arlene said. She stood up to move after Cuddy and as she walked she tossed out, "So you two are trying to have a baby?"

Cuddy dropped a dish and it broke. "Why would you ask that?"

"Your sister told me."

"I think she means why is that any of your business," House clarified, as Cuddy took the large chunks of glass to the trash.

"She's my daughter, Greg. Of course it's my business."

"She's also forty-four and fully emancipated, last time I checked."

"I'm simply inquiring. I don't know what all the fuss is about."

House grinned tightly and tilted his head. "It feels like it's crossed from inquiring into inquisition."

"I'm just concerned," Arlene conceded.

"About what?" Cuddy asked, sweeping up the remaining glass with a dustpan and broom.

"You're not getting any younger, Lisa. Neither is this guy," she nodded at House. "Having a child is hard enough. I'm concerned about you handling a child that might be… needy." She knew how to just keep pulling the tension tauter.

"Oh, don't worry," House assured her. "Cuddy's taking anti-'specialness' vitamins."

"Dr. House," Arlene said, turning toward him sharply. "Do you intend to make an honest woman out of my daughter?"

House almost did a spit-take with his refilled drink. "Are we suddenly in 1950? An honest woman?"

"I'm simply pointing out that Lisa is taking a big chance with a high-risk pregnancy, at her age, partnering with a man who could leave her at any moment. Especially if things get… difficult."

Cuddy had her fingers on her temples and sighed. "Mom—"

"No, Cuddy. I got this. _Mrs. Cuddy_, with all _due_ respect, _Lisa_ and I already know difficult. We know risk. We know disability. And I am not going to walk out on her or our baby—even if he comes out all 'downsy' and ruins your holiday letter—because it's difficult. I'm not walking out for anything, and we don't need a ring and white dress to know that, even if you do. If she's happy, I'm happy. If she's sad, I'm sad. If she's pissed, I'm pissed. So you need to be more careful now, cuz there's two of us."

There was silence. Then Arlene reached out and patted his cheek. She turned to Cuddy. "I like him."

Cuddy smiled. "Me too."

**[H] [H] [H] **

House wasn't really thinking about whether or not Cuddy might be pregnant; they'd been "trying" again for a couple months, only to end up neck deep in froyo and sprinkles. It was just as Cuddy had warned—you got used to it.

But one day he was grumpily working in the clinic and he glanced across the nurses' station toward Cuddy's office. He saw her through the glass doors, and she looked up from her work and smiled. Then she stood up and, in the ridiculous manner of someone who had never held a baseball bat, mimed hitting one out of the park and beamed at him. House laughed out loud and the nurses turned toward the foreign sound.

"What's so funny?" asked Jeffrey.

House kept smiling through the glass at Cuddy, who pretended to go back to typing, but was grinning ear to ear. Then he put on his best scowl and looked at the Jeffrey. "Girls. And male nurses."


	7. Chapter 7

**[H] [H] [H]**

Over lunch in the cafeteria, even though the whole matter was months off, House was passionately insisting that he should be the person to deliver the baby.

"You're not an ob/gyn," Wilson pointed out. "Why can't you just go through the process like any other dad?"

"Think about my skill set," House argued. "I'm the master of pulling things out of bodies. I'm not so great at hand-wringing and cheerleading." He turned to Cuddy. "Come on, Cuddy. Let's play to my strengths." Cuddy rolled her eyes to play along, but she didn't really discuss the matter of the birth much, which struck House as notably anti-Cuddy. She was the type of person who laid her clothes out the night before, and kept a running grocery list on the fridge. She was a planner.

"Why aren't you obsessing about every detail of this birth?" House asked her. She raised her eyebrows innocently. "I talk about it more than you. In what universe am I more prepared than you? I even have my bag all packed to rush off to the hospital."

"Is it filled with Vicodin and video games?" Wilson asked.

"And porn." He looked back to Cuddy who sneered at his joke. "So?" He stared at her. "What gives?"

"'I'm just… taking it day by day," she explained.

House nodded indulgently. "Yeah. That sounds like you."

"Whatever, House. You can deliver the baby," she said indifferently. She stole a glance at Wilson, then winked at House. "If you can manage to keep you face off my—"

"Helloooooooo," Wilson interrupted, turning beet red. "Um, hi there. James Wilson. Still present at the table."

House grinned, reveling in Cuddy helping him fluster Wilson. "What? You didn't know Cuddy had a—"

"Mazel tov!" Wilson yelled randomly. "Hurrah for that! Now move," he said in a huffy fit of verbal diarrhea. He picked up his tray and nudged House to let him out.

House looked at him with a small smirk dancing on his lips. "Mazel tov?"

"Just let me out of here. I hate when you two gang up on me. I don't stand a chance." House got up to let him pass, but just as Wilson was rising he asked, "Out of curiosity, did you ever locate any of your wives'—"

"Code blue! Gotta go! Stat!" Wilson bee-lined for the trashcan.

House sat back down laughing. "The man can't use any names for genitalia." Cuddy smiled, but House could tell she wasn't really present. He sipped his soda and noticed that she was, again, eating steamed vegetables, quinoa, and tofu. The woman rarely indulged in junk food, but he hadn't seen so much as a fry or sprinkle pass her lips in weeks. Furthermore, she hadn't been doing her morning yoga routine lately, which he hadn't minded as it kept her body curled next to his longer. But he'd also noted that when they'd gone to an ultrasound that week, Cuddy had barely looked. She'd refused to learn the baby's gender and had made House swear not to tell, which was also unlike her.

"You haven't been saluting the sun lately," he commented.

Cuddy looked surprised. "I'm just tired," she explained.

House nodded. "Wanna go out for dinner tonight? Palio's? You can get alfredo."

Cuddy wrinkled her nose. "Nah. Let's stay in. I'm tired."

House leaned across the table toward her. "Tired?" he asked. "Or scared."

Cuddy met his pointed gaze. "Does it matter?"

House shrugged. "Depends who you ask. To that cashier over there, no. To the man who likes watching you lick cream sauce off a fork, a little. But I can assure you," he said, looking deep into her eyes, "that whether or not you eat butter and salt or do downward dog does not matter to the baby."

"Fetus," she corrected.

"And," he continued, "those things do matter to your quality of life over the next five months." She stared at her food, her expression unreadable. He felt a distance and he suddenly realized just how terrified she was. She was keeping her distance, in case it all fell apart again… if she didn't eat right; or moved in a weird way; or loved this thing too hard, it could all be over. "Why won't you just admit that you're scared?" he asked.

"Why won't you?"

"You haven't asked me." He waited to see if she'd deny it. "You don't want to know if I'm scared just like you don't want to admit to yourself that you're scared." She looked at him, compulsively twisting a ring around her finger. "See, Cuddy, _this_ is the sort of pain that human connection can help with."

"Oh, shut up. What are you, the poor man's Wilson?"

House laughed. "I'm just saying." Cuddy sighed and moved her food around her plate. She glanced up at him briefly and he saw her eyebrows knit before she turned her attention back to her food. Her lips were a tight line.

"I don't want to tell you I'm scared just so you can give me six scientific reasons why I shouldn't be. Then I just feel scared and foolish."

House considered this. "I don't think you shouldn't be." She looked up again. "I've got loads of reasons why we _should_ be. I'm scared we're too old and our fetus is wimpy and weak," he confessed.

Cuddy nodded. "I'm scared my body is just not made to do this."

"I'm scared we'll lose it later this time, when it's all closer."

"I'm scared the baby will have severe complications that make it sick."

"I'm scared you'll have severe complications that make you sick."

"I'm scared you'll hate me if it happens again."

"I'm scared you'll hate me."

They fell silent. Then House said, "Only that last one is impossible."

"The last two."

"I'm scared you'll be that sad again."

Cuddy swallowed hard. "Me too."

House reached over and covered her small hand with his. "Cuddy, none of it was ever something you ate or something you did. You're a doctor, you idiot. You know this."

Cuddy inhaled sharply. "House, I just don't want to take any chances. I don't want to tip the scales even a tiny bit. I want to make sure that this…"

"Baby."

"Fetus…lives."

"You think if you eat nothing but salt-free plants and try not to bend too much you'll feel safe? You think if you adopt my language for in utero organisms you'll protect yourself? We're _never_ gonna feel sure, Cuddy, til it happens. And if we lose it, your list of virtuous behaviors isn't going to comfort you." She looked at him again, relenting a little. He sat back in his seat. "And in the meantime, you're ruining what might be a lovely routine pregnancy with fear and guilt and overdramatic self-discipline." Cuddy nodded. "Don't get me wrong," he added, his eyes mischievous. "There's a time and place for discipline. Discipline _me_, Cuddy." He raised an eyebrow at her. "But for chrissake, show me some morning warrior or boat or whatever the fuck those are called." Cuddy laughed.

"I'll think about it," she conceded. She took a shaky breath. "We don't know that it's all gonna be okay," she reminded him.

"Did I say it was?" he replied. Cuddy drummed her fingers on the table anxiously. "We lost a baby. That's never gonna be okay. But it doesn't mean this won't be. Right now, he's okay."

Cuddy looked up quickly. "He?"

"Oops," House said flatly.

"You're such a shit."

"And you're pretending that you don't already love him."

Cuddy glared at him, but her expression slowly softened. "It's a boy?"

House nodded. "Saw his cane and everything."

She sighed with exasperation. "Well, that's just great. Now I have to work twice as hard to make sure he takes after _me_."

"He's already causing you angst and grief. The boy's all me, baby."

**[H] [H] [H]**

In spite of eating fettuccini that night, and in spite of returning to some gentle yoga, Cuddy did make it further in the pregnancy than she ever had before. Way further. It simultaneously helped her relax, yet plagued her with waves of sudden fear that any day could be a day of the most enormous grief she'd ever felt. She meticulously charted ultrasound measurements and compulsively rechecked the viability statistics for different weeks of pregnancy, assuming she'd never make it to forty weeks. She didn't trust her body to do that; rather, she was silently willing it to hang on until the baby could survive outside her body. She was bargaining daily with her uterus.

On the other hand, on a practical level Cuddy was uncharacteristically lackadaisical about this major change in her life. Her fear had prevented her from taking any permanent steps toward parenthood. She had refused a baby shower and hadn't purchased so much as a rattle. She was already so scared of another miscarriage, and she didn't want to have to dismantle a nursery on top of it.

Of course, that didn't completely curb her obsessive nature. She had been surveying catalogs and talking about her plans, occasionally running ideas by House, who gave up after she'd nixed his suggested nursery themes of "Greatest Blues Artists of All Time," monster trucks, and "Survival of the Fittest"—whatever the hell that was gonna look like. At any rate, all household preparations were relegated to her mind for the time being.

Then she reached twenty-six weeks, when the fetus had a ninety percent chance of survival if born. She had been waiting for this day and felt a huge weight lift from her, despite the ten percent risk of tragedy still weaving into her worry-prone mind. She was annoyed that House hadn't been in to see her much that day. He'd left before she woke. Every time she tried to catch him, he was out of his office and his team sent her on wild goose chases around the hospital. All she'd wanted was to celebrate with the one person who would understand, but he was clearly preoccupied with his many distractions. He was responding to texts, but only with perfunctory answers. She figured he must have been absorbed with one of his random projects—which could be a patient issue or an evil prank against Wilson—and she'd grill him about it later.

She went home at the end of the long day, picking up takeout for them both because she was too tired to make anything for herself and she figured he'd reheat it if he wasn't home until late. When she walked in, though, he was there. Right there. As if waiting for her. He came over and took her things out of her hands, only to unceremoniously plop them on the floor. "Come on, come on, come on," he urged, pulling her into the house.

"What's going on?" she asked. "What did you do?" she continued, suddenly suspicious. She was tired and hungry, and not immediately in the mood for an ornate sexual escapade, though his gleeful smirk made her think she could be persuaded.

House took her hand and towed her toward the guest room. The door was closed and he gestured for her to open it. She didn't know if she'd find a room full of strippers or if a bucket of water (or worse) was going to dump over her head, so she braced herself. But when she opened the door, there was a completely decorated circus-themed baby nursery spread out before her—curtains, paint, furniture, lamps… he'd thought of everything. Cuddy was speechless. She looked at him with shock and he leaned down and kissed her open mouth, whispering "Happy twenty-six weeks."

"House, it's beautiful!" she finally uttered. "You're amazing!"

"My credit card's amazing," he clarified. "It magically makes people show up to paint and hang things." He dropped himself into a cushioned rocker and started flipping through an alphabet book that was on the table. "I did, however, spend three full hours with your mother and sister. In a ginormous baby store. Your _mother_. And _Julia_."

Cuddy laughed, but was distracted by the room, examining different items and opening drawers. "Arlene has an opinion on _everything_," he continued. "On crib mattresses that look identical. On the number of washcloths that should be used in a day. On light bulb wattage. And don't get Julia started on cloth diapers," he warned. He turned a page in the book. "What the hell animal is this supposed to be?" he asked, holding the book up for Cuddy to see.

But then he saw her. Cuddy had her hand clapped over her mouth and tears were streaming down her face. "Oh, you poor, crazy woman." House stood up and hugged her. "You're happy, right?" Cuddy nodded into his chest. "It's gonna be okay," he told her. "You can stop worrying."

He felt her take a slow, deep breath. "I thought this might never happen."

"I know."

"I still can't believe it."

"I know."

"We're so lucky."

"I'll remind you of that when you're dealing with feces at three in the morning." She laughed and smiled at the very idea. "So, just checking, you're not mad at me in some ridiculous control-freaky way for just taking care of it all? I weighed that risk."

"No. No, I…. wasn't capable of it," she admitted.

"Hmmm. I might also assert that you aren't capable of choosing television shows or underwear and should leave those things to me too." He grabbed her ass.

"Maybe you should quit while you're ahead."

"Maybe we should christen the baby's room." He nuzzled her neck.

"House, you could be surrounded by nuns and puppies and still think about sex."

House considered this. "I mean, if _you_ were one of the nuns… or puppies."

Cuddy smirked at him. "Your brand of romance borders on creepy."

House laughed. "That's exactly what you sister told me today."

"Why?" Cuddy asked, studying him.

"Because I told her I know how many times we've had sex." Cuddy pulled away a bit and looked at him, astonished.

"You do?"

"I do. 567. Including Michigan."

"That's…" she trailed off.

"You're trying to pick between romantic or creepy, right?" he predicted. Cuddy laughed and leaned into him again. "To be clear, that's not counting the sex that might happen right now."

"Which might not happen if I decide on creepy."

He squeezed her. "You never decide on creepy."

**[H] [H] [H]**

In the end, Cuddy was ironically a week past her due date when her labor began. As expected, she was already at the hospital when her contractions started. She didn't bother calling House right away because he had a case, but when he and Cameron came down bickering about the nuances of informed consent, House noticed when she grimaced slightly and a hand went to her belly.

"Cuddy…" He studied her.

"House, you cannot do exploratory surgery without clearly stating that it is _exploratory_. You may not allude to a tumor that you have not confirmed is there." Cameron looked at him smugly, but House was ignoring her.

"Are you in labor?" he asked.

"Just because she disagrees with you doesn't mean she's in labor," Cameron chided.

"Right," Cuddy agreed. "But yes."

"Yes?!"

"Early stages. We have plenty of time," she said, grimacing again.

"Not if your twisted facial expressions are two minutes apart."

"They're mild, House."

"You're Lisa Cuddy," House reminded her. "You don't acknowledge pain."

She grinned at him. "Go. You have time to get your patient to surgery, _if_ you get the proper consent."

"Did your water break?" he asked. Cuddy didn't respond. "Cuddy?"

"In the middle of a clinic patient exam," she told him. "So that was fun."

"Cuddy, get into a room!" he scolded. "What's the matter with you?"

"I'm in the hospital, House. I have my stuff. It's under control."

At the mention of "stuff," House perked up. "I gotta change."

"Your clothes?" Cameron asked.

"No, into a decent man," House replied. "Yes, my clothes."

"Why?" Cuddy asked.

"It's not every day a guy gets to deliver his own son," he told her. "Get a room."

"Get consent."

"I'll meet you in fifteen."

**[H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy was in a gown, pacing the room, waiting for House. Her contractions had gotten even closer together and much stronger. This wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought, even if she was in great shape.

When House entered, she cracked up. "I can't get you to wear your white coat in the hospital, or a tie to a conference, but you'll wear a tuxedo to a birth?"

House feigned offense. "Not just any birth, Cuddy. The birth of the most perfect human specimen yet created."

"Oh yeah, Forget Jesus. Gandhi. Martin Luther King." She couldn't help smiling a bit at another example of his bizarrely-manifested romanticism.

"Typical Jew, you're already disappointed in him," House scolded. Cuddy started to laugh and argue, but a building contraction caught her and she had to brace on a nearby wall and breathe her way through it.

"Bad?" House asked, watching her.

"Not fun," she replied. "Is that going to be the extent of your coaching? Throwing out adjectives while watching me struggle across the room?"

House frowned and looked down at himself. "I don't wanna mess up my tux."

"Do you want me to mess up your face?"

House raised an eyebrow. "What kind of messing up are we talking about here?"

"House, I'm giving birth and you're still distracted by opportunities for oral sex?" She said this just as Wilson was entering, so he turned on his heel and walked right back out. House's back was to the door, so he had to ask.

"Please tell me that was Wilson." Cuddy smiled and nodded. "_So_ great." Then Cuddy's breath deepened again and she leaned against the bed.

"Close," House observed.

"I swear to God, House. Be different. Right now. Or I'll kill you."

House laughed and went to her, standing behind her and rubbing her shoulders gently. When she stood back up he kissed the back of her neck. "You can do this." He nuzzled her ear. "You were made to do this." He wrapped his arms around her. "Just look at your hips."

"I hate you," she said, elbowing him gently.

"Sounds like things are progressing," sang Dr. O'Brien as he entered. "Proclamations of hate usually mean we're getting close."

"Oh, she's hated me for decades," House clarified.

"Haven't we all," O'Brien threw back, reading over Cuddy's chart.

"Nice," House groused. O'Brien ignored him.

"I chose him because he can handle you," Cuddy said to House. "I'm giving birth. I don't want you suddenly biopsying my spinal nerve." She winked at him as she carefully got on the bed and lay back.

"How far apart are your contractions?" Dr. O'Brien asked Cuddy.

"About two minutes," she answered.

"One minute, forty seconds, then one minute, twenty-two," House corrected. O'Brien motioned for Cuddy to scoot down and open her legs.

"Why do you always do that?" Cuddy accused.

"Why do you always do _that_?" he threw back, gesturing at her spread legs. Cuddy rolled her eyes and then closed them, trying to find her happy place. "Why do I always do what?" House asked.

"You act indifferent, but you're secretly checking the time between contractions to the second."

"I keep you guessing. Little bit of bad boy, little bit of good boy."

"Well, I like your good boy more." Cuddy said. To which O'Brien snorted, his head between Cuddy's legs.

"They say that. Not true."

Cuddy stared down at the bump of his head under a sheet. "Who asked you?"

House was grinning. "Apparently he can handle you too."

And so it went for several hours. House and Cuddy teased, bickered, touched. It was just them… having a baby. By the time things were really beginning to move in earnest, Cuddy's contractions all but overlapping, O'Brien had refreshed House on the basics and promised to stay out of it unless something went awry. When it was time to push, he stepped aside and House threw his suit coat on a chair, rolled up his sleeves, and told Cuddy with a grin, "Now let's get to work."

"True to form," she replied. "You think the party starts when you arrive."

"And you think there's a prize for whining the most."

"House, you may think—"

"Save it, Cuddy, Channel it. You need to push in about twenty seconds."

Cuddy took a deep breath and looked down. All she saw were his eyes, but they were looking right back at hers. "You can do this. Let's set a record here. Five pushes."

She grinned. He knew her so well. Give her a concrete goal to surpass and she was motivated. When she felt the contraction begin to swell in her belly, she inhaled deeply. Two nurses pressed her knees back and Cuddy pushed. It fucking hurt, but she pushed, thinking of it just as House had presented it. This was one of five, at her strongest, and she needed to pull ahead because the next ones would get harder. She got through it and was still shaking when her belly began tightening again. "Here we go, Cuddy. Kick its ass," House called.

Cuddy bore down, staring at the clock hung on the wall above House's head, trying to hold the push for a full twenty seconds. She made it to twenty-one. There was silence for a moment and she was suddenly scared; silent House worried her. But then, "Cuddy, his head's out. He looks crazy. Perfect and crazy," he laughed.

"He's okay?" Cuddy had to check, craning her head.

"Yes!" House laughed, delighted. "You just have a tiny human head coming out of your vagina."

"What were you expecting, House?" she asked. There was a beat of silence.

"To feel less," he answered. Another contraction crashed over her before she knew it."Come on, Cuddy! Puuuuuuuush! I got a shoulder here."

"It hurts!" 

"So does my leg."

"Youuuuuu—"

"Are an ass. I know. Cuddy, he's almost here." Cuddy watched the clock and willed herself to keep holding the push for five more seconds. She fell back against the bed and they waited without words for the next contraction. Number four came within the minute and she pushed again, feeling an enormous relief of pressure as her son slipped free of her body. House held him up, a screaming ball of flesh, then promptly moved her gown aside to lay him on her chest, declaring, "Cuddy, you did it!"

It was all a blur. He was holding scissors, cutting the cord. Doctors were checking her son, who was lying warm against her body, breathing and squawking. House was smiling, stroking her sweaty hair back and staring between her and their baby. "You did it, lady," he whispered. "I said five pushes and you, of course, did it in four."

Cuddy smiled weakly at him, then everything disappeared as she stared at their son.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House sat at Cuddy's bedside, holding the baby as she slept. The tiny person looked like an old man whose home nurse had been slacking off—there was sloughing skin, liquid seeping from orifices, and a truly bizarre hair growth pattern. He was gorgeous.

Wilson came in and House looked up and held a finger to his lips, pointing at sleeping Cuddy. He set the journal he'd been reading aside and hooked his glasses to his shirt. "Hey," he whispered.

Wilson, with his typical flair for drama, gestured with his hands, framing House holding his son. "Who woulda thought?" he asked quietly.

"Cuddy, apparently," House answered.

"It suits you surprisingly well," Wilson complimented. "Fatherhood, I mean. You look almost nice."

"Don't tell anyone." They both looked at the sleeping infant for a moment. "Cuddy's giving him my last name," he told Wilson, almost shyly.

Wilson looked impressed. "Really."

House nodded. "I think she's under the impression I'm gonna marry her or something one day."

"Now how would she get a cockamamie idea like that?"

"I know. Particularly when the only person I've even broached that topic with is this guy who is a vault of secrecy and not meddlesome at all."

Wilson grinned, not meeting House's glare. "There's gonna be another 'House,'" he mused. House responded with a maniacal grin. "What's his first name?"

House sighed dramatically. "It's perfect," he declared. "It sounds so great with my last name." Wilson raised his eyebrows with interest. House looked at him, then said wistfully, "Pancake."

"You're such an asshole."

House laughed and the boy stirred out of his swaddle, his tiny hand grasping House's finger. "Shhh," House hissed at Wilson, nodding toward Cuddy.

"Oh, don't worry," Wilson replied. "I think she already knows."


End file.
